


FIC:  Merely Players 1/5

by elessil, Hippediva



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Corsetry, Crossdressing, M/M, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:17:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elessil/pseuds/elessil, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippediva/pseuds/Hippediva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The small (fictional) island of San Felipe proves to be a large problem for more than one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We are the miscreants responsible for the overblown Rape of Lucrece. Our abject apologies to Shakespeare.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
artistic  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Bach--Brandenburg #5  
**Entry tags:** |  [fiction](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/tag/fiction)  
  
_**FIC: Merely Players 1/5**_  
AUTHORS: [](http://elessil.livejournal.com/profile)[**elessil**](http://elessil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/profile)[**hippediva**](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/)  
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns them. We plunder  
RATING: PG through NC17  
PAIRING: Sparrington  
WARNINGS: masks and secrets and extreme insanity

SUMMARY: The small (fictional) island of San Felipe proves to be a large problem for more than one person.

In honour of Carnivale, we offer a masquerade. The story is complete and we will post each chapter daily.

  
Jack skirted the corner of one street and bolted down the small alley as fast as his legs could carry him. He paused, glancing over his shoulder, eyes darting between the only cover all the way across the square and the large wagon half-mired in the street to his left. He heard the shouts from the next street over and opted for the wagon, diving in and scrambling to the back, covering himself in whatever came to hand.

Breathlessly, he heard the soldier's footsteps pass and tugged at his beard, thinking so hard it made his eyes cross.

Norrington pressed deeper into the shadows, his breath stopping when the cloth flap was pushed apart. No shouts, no search, no Spanish. In fact, no sound at all but for a breath as hard and shallow as his own. Then, suddenly, someone pulled the blanket he was hiding beneath from him and he jumped to his feet, hand on his sword. It was fortunate he didn't drop it. He slammed a hand over Sparrow's mouth and yanked the blanket over both of them.

Jack was too shocked to struggle, his eyebrows stuck in his headscarf. He hunched down, listening to the thud of his blood rushing in his veins and wondered if there was something strange about the rum in this part of New Spain. He could have sworn the hand bruising his chin belonged to Commodore Norrington, but that was quite impossible, since Jamaica was leagues away and the Commodore would have no business hiding from Spanish soldiers in any event.

Norrington also had his doubts. It just seemed too unlikely that Jack Bloody Sparrow could show up _everywhere_, particularly when his life was already so perilous. His heart was pounding so hard that it imagined what he always did when he was angry. That didn't explain the faint chime next to him. _Oh bloody hell._

Jack squirmed and pulled at his fingers in the darkness, snuffling a bit at the amount of dust in the heavy blanket over them. He made a soft sound and punched Norrington in the arm.

Frantically, Norrington crushed Sparrow's head against his chest, holding him with a firm grip in his hair. Oh yes. Definitely Sparrow. Sneezing.

And he had thought the day could not get any worse.

Jack's narrow shoulders heaved as he tried to still the sound against the broadcloth coat. He thought the top of his head would explode with the effort. His breath came in short huffs and he clutched at the coat, fearful of another sneeze.

Spanish voices rose and Norrington could feel him tense, like a cat readying itself to flee, but there was another one, fine Spanish with only the slightest bit of an English accent. They talked for nigh a minute, the soldiers hasty and urgent, the second voice careless and indifferent, then contemplative. Steps moved away from the wagon, quick and definitely military.

Another minute of silence, then the second voice rose. "You can come out."

Jack froze. He didn't want to get skewered by Spanish steel huddled in James Norrington's arms, but then again, if he could get behind Norrington, perhaps he wouldn't get skewered at all. He wriggled around until his head was half under Norrington's arm, one leg thrown over his, sitting, to all extents and purposes, on his lap. The blanket was plucked away and he peeked.

The first thing he saw were thin legs and stockings that continued to a skinny body, then a red mane over a grin that was as mischievous as Jack's at his best and even wider.

"I said you can come out. Don't you understand me?" He sighed, then repeated the question first in Spanish, then French, then German.

Jack pulled his head off Norrington's chest. "Awright, awright, I understan'." He looked up warily at the pale eyes twinkling down at them. "Uh...thanks." He shifted a little and slid between Norrington's outstretched legs like a rag doll. "Ow."

"My thanks," Norrington muttered, got to his feet and dusted off the dark brown coat he was wearing.

Meanwhile, the pale eyes were following Jack's every move with interest, and the light in them grew even brighter. "They're gone for now. But they will be back." He grinned. "I can hide you. Under one condition."

*********************************

Norrington was scowling at his cuffs. He was grateful there was no mirror, for then there would be no way to pretend that he was not, in fact, wearing all the garments he saw when peering down his body. The boots, he supposed, were the best part. A little worn perhaps, but at least his own. Fernando (whose real name was Finch) had spared him that at least when the many pairs in the wagon - which had turned out to be the prop wagon of a traveling actors' troupe - had proved too small.

The breeches were _bearable_. Dingy black more faded than the rust coloured coat and the tarnished orange masquerading as gold at collar and cuffs. There, where the cheap Irish lace was peering forward, horribly gaudy and worse than anything he would imagine even Sparrow wearing.

Just as he thought of his personal demon, he heard a shriek, then loud complaints that definitely were Sparrow's. He grinned, strode a few steps, the black cape billowing, to get a look at the proceedings.

"Hey, James! I'm not done with you yet," Fernando shouted, brandishing a monstrosity of a hat.

There was a huge clatter and a yelp and all Norrington could see was Sparrow's legs and arse as he struggled with two very large men who were trying to hold him still. His face was covered in shaving soap and it flew about like flakes of new snow. "I will not! Get offa me, damn ya t'hell in a rusty trough!"

He stopped struggling and was staring down at the razor with enormous eyes that flicked up to meet Norrington's, then he started to laugh. "Oh Lord! Ain't you jus' fit fer market day in Seven Dials!"

Norrington scowled down at him and took vicious pleasure at Sparrow's gulp when the razor found his jaw, scraping at the rakish beard, taking away even the two long braids. Fernando had followed him with a shrug and was now kneeling behind Jack and busily untying the stingray bone from his hair.

"Stop it! Don't ya dare t'lose that! Ouch. Help?"

Jack didn't dare to fight, not with a straight razor under his nose, but he panicked as all the braids in his hair were combed out, the trinkets gone, the dreads yanked and tugged into some kind of order or hidden beneath the rest of his mane as it was pinned up around his ears. "Wot th' bloody hell are ya doin' t'me!"

He appealed to Norrington. "Yer the law. Make 'em stop!"

"Not in these waters," Norrington chuckled, but he did stop Fernando from throwing the trinkets away, arguing that trash or not, they were Sparrow's property and should be returned to him.

He nearly dropped the pouch with them when he again saw Sparrow, still the odd bit of shaving soap on his face, his hair curling into ringlets where the braids had been undone. Norrington grinned wide. "Without those, you seem almost pretty."

"Yes, and that is why he'll take over for Mariella," Fernando announced cheerfully.

"I will NOT!" Jack crossed his arms and pouted. Unfortunately for him, this only made the assembled company of stage hands, actresses and actors laugh.

"Coo! He even looks like 'er when she's in a temper!"

"C'mon, pretty, smile fer us!"

"Yea, but can he fit inta her frocks?"

Jack glared at them all, especially Norrington. He felt naked and his upper lip was cold. "Wot in hell is happenin'?"

Norrington had heard the tale while Fernando had been busy redressing him, and had quickly reconsidered his original refusal when another patrol marched by, followed by yet another only minutes later. Not to forget that his Spanish had more than sufficed to hear the order about the additional patrols on the docks passed on.

At least now, looking at Sparrow, he was feeling marginally less ridiculous, especially when Fernando knelt before the pirate, kissed his hand and stroked his cheek.

"Oh, Mon cher, do not hate me. You said you would do everything for our love - or was is your life? - and it is hardly too much to ask for three weeks of your time. You see, we are at a bit of an impasse, what with our lead actress running away with her lover and he stabbing Antonio here in the arse. But," he lifted a finger, "the stage shall not be abandoned! We have a contract, and you will help us fulfill it." The French accent was not helping to make it sound any less ridiculous.

Jack looked at him blankly. "I did? Musta been in me cups."

James watched with ill-concealed amusement as they painted and powdered Sparrow's dark skin to ivory pallor, rouged his lips and cheeks and added a conspicuously heart-shaped beauty mark on one cheekbone. His hair was half-piled atop his head, the dreadlocks making very convenient rats to puff it on either side. In short, he looked, at least from the neck up, the very soul of a coquette.

"An' wot in hell are you doin' here? I got enough mis'ry wifout you!" His eyes spat canister shot at the Commodore.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle, the misery is entirely mine." Norrington's grin was dark, like the one he had worn on the docks of Port Royal when mocking Jack without any humour at all.

Fernando clapped his hands. "Oh, this personality! I can see it, this will be perfect! Antonio! Antonio, come here and have a look at him, and tell me he isn't just perfect! Yes, he will need a little bit of a beard here, but won't they be a beautiful couple?"

It was difficult to tell whose mouth fell open wider. "Couple?!"

Jack glared. "I wanted t'save me arse, not peddle it!" The full weight of Fernando's words sank in and his eyes became huge. "I gotta act? On a stage? Wif him!" He pointed.

"While we rarely agree, he does have a point. I am supposed to act? With _him_?"

Fernando was still grinning sweetly. "You can also attempt to try acting on the docks. But there you won't have an excuse to speak English."

The plump women with flaming scarlet hair hit Fernando lightly with her stocking, emerging from the darkness of the wagon in her chemise and little else. "I think yer jus' ducky. An' y'know, ya really do look like Mariella. Now jus' act like a bitch in heat an' ye'll be fine!"

"Dorcas, don't be a tart! He's prettier than she is!" Dawkins, the big stage hand laughed and pinched Jack's backside. Jack turned in a flash, his hand raised. "Yep. Jus' like her. You two can read, right?"

"I would not be so certain about him, but I can," Norrington muttered. Obviously, there was a reason why officers normally didn't go spying. He strove to remember that. "This is ridiculous."

"Yes, and people pay well to see it. Have in fact already paid to see it tomorrow evening, so you will better start learning quickly. Antonio, what do you say to him?"

"I can too read!" Jack exploded, his voice at ridiculous odds with his head. Dawkins hauled him off the stool and began to pull at his clothes. "Hey! Stop! Wait!" Jack slapped his hands.

Fernando jumped in to rescue his hairstyling.

There was a lot of pulling and tugging and Dorcas even threateningly aimed her pointed boots at Jack's crotch until he finally went still. Nothing however could stop him from squeaking as Dawkins yanked at the corset laces until he could tie them fast. "Well, 'e's a bit wider in the waist but no tits to speak of."

Norrington laughed, long and hard. "You, on the other hand, would fit Maiden Lane, Mademoiselle."

Antonio, a bit older than the others and leaning heavily on a stick, limped around him. "Hold still and stop mocking." He grabbed Norrington's chin and laughed as he broke free with an angry headshake. "He has temper. Maybe."

Fernando was far more enthusiastic and danced up to James, kissing his hand again and when he let go, pulled away his signet ring, then danced over to Jack. "I love you, will you marry me?" He thrust the ring on Jack's thumb.

Zelina, nee Margery Ann Jenkins, sidled next to Norrington. "And he's gonna marry me an' take me off t'a grand estate on th' canals o' Venice."

Jack was still straining to breathe. The corset left him no alternative than to pant, the petticoats caught between his legs, and the heavy velvet frock threatened to tear if he so much as slouched. His lips worked almost pitifully.

"Yer on th' davenport t'night," he deadpanned at the disguised and very dashing, if loud, Commodore.

Norrington was about to tear his ring off Sparrow's finger, but Fernando shook his head and grabbed the hand.

"No. This is part of his costume, and stays there."

Antonio lifted a hand at their antics. "Stop that. Zelina, get back to rehearsing, you still do not know your part. If she's married at all, then obviously to him," he pointed towards James, "because it's his ring."

He limped a few steps and got a stack of paper which he thrust into Norrington's hands.

"You're Tarquin."

He turned, pushed another stack at Jack. "And you Lucrece."

Jack stared at the pages, then at Norrington. "Oh God, I'm scuppered!"

    ***********************************

"O foul, thou beast would take from me this life,  
Beating fast and true beneath this breast? Ain't got none! It's wool an' it itches!" Jack scratched at his left tit.

"'Tis here, alas, in darkness only can I moan my sorry fate.  
Left priceless my treasure in one man's hands too late. _Faint._" Jack pointed at the page. "I ain't fallin' flat on me arse!"

Norrington pushed him down on the bare stage.

  "Beauty our greatest temptress is and fair art thou - _like hell_.  
  But greater still and all more powerful is lust,  
  That burning fire that destroys and births.  
  Thou hast kindled it, and now I press,  fulfil!"

Jack turned his head away, one hand raised.

" Do not for pity's sake destroy what is mine only pride and fortress. Oh fer Chrissakes, wot th' hell is he thinkin'? Get off me skirt!"

He had had a running battle with every direction from the back of the plaza enclosed within the grounds of the fine capital. He turned back to Norrington, warding him off in a flurry of opalescent silk bought on the cheap in Tortuga and almost tripping over the high heeled shoes.

"Dammit!"

"You're terrified. This monster is going to wreck your life, whether you do or do not his bidding. You are helpless. _Feel_ helpless," the voice intoned.

"Shite."

James thought his role despicable, but Sparrow gazing at him in terror was deeply satisfying.

"You as the epitome of virtue is a joke in itself," he muttered. 

"As my father ruleth this proud kingdom, I shall rule thee,  
With thy will or against it.  
Fair as Rome herself, thou art but mine. "

"Ay me!" Jack exploded. "AY ME! Bloody fuckin' hell. Get offa me, you lump! "

"You're supposed to touch her! Not like she disgusts you! For pity's sake, you want to ravish her. Show that!"

"And when does a pirate become a critic and a spy a star, pray tell?" The voice grew closer and Solomon D'Yves glowered magnificently at his newest additions.

"I beg you, gentlemen. Madame. We have a performance in three hours' time. I don't care what you say, but say it convincingly and try to remember the plot." He puffed out his considerable chest and looked down a classically Roman nose at them.

Norrington was kneeling atop Sparrow and gladly let go, straightening to his full height.

Antonio shook his head. "This won't work! The one's an indignant fool and the other entirely stiff with God knows what up his arse who can't keep disgust and lust apart."

"All right, five minutes' pause and then you two try this again. And proper this time!"

Fernando, for the first time, scowled. He grabbed Norrington's collar. "I know you don't give a damn about us and the success of this play. But you'd better give a damn about your own hide, because they are looking for two Englishmen, and if it shows that two of the actors aren't actors at all, you can bet they will take a closer look."

D'Yves waved a hand. "I beg to request a moment with my two 'stars."

He waited until Antonio and Fernando ducked behind the curtains.

"Sirs. I believe you owe to this fine company the fact that neither of you is languishing in a cell, swinging from a rope or shot in the streets. The least you can do is afford me a proper performance." His eyes were a light brown, almost gold and danced in the light of so many lanterns. "I have the utmost faith in you both. Adieu."

With that, he turned and stalked off, leaving Jack to wrench his train around and stare at Norrington. He bit his lip and it was a completely ridiculous thing to see Sparrow, speechless and yes, afraid; painted and primped and looking every bit the female.

Norrington glared, but beneath the fire, there also was fear. A thousand comments on Sparrow's appearance were on his lips, but he didn't say one, instead wondered how to keep both his face and his life.

"He is right," he muttered.

Jack gulped. Then he nodded. "Back to the beginning?"

   ****************************************&lt;!--&lt;wbr&gt;\--&gt;&lt;!--&lt;/wbr&gt;\--&gt;**********

"As to love and plea thou didst not submit,  
I then sought threats that did not soft your heart,  
Cold and hard and hiding but in chastity's fairest gown.  
Hence now to force I find myself reduced,  
And if thou shalt not yield, for thee it may be done. "

Norrington's voice was tightly controlled, loud and filling the stage as a Captain's filled his ship in a storm. He could feel the audience's gaze, and could not miss the cheers from the pit and the gasps from the galleries as he grasped 'Lucrece's' wrist and forced her down on the stage.

Jack's heel caught in the hem of his skirt and he would have fallen heavily, but for Norrington's strength.

"I have no recourse here and so cannot but yield,  
As flowers will to rain, as rock to water."

He kicked his upstage leg, trying to free the shoe and lost his balance, reaching out towards the audience with one desperate hand before Norrington's face was buried in the false illusion of his bosom.

"Sweet Gods, look down with pity, for I am undone."

He froze as the curtain pulled close and the applause deafened him.

"I'm stuck!" he snarled.

"Brilliant," Norrington hissed.

He tore at Sparrow's shoe and managed to free it.

"Go!"

This was positively insane. The theatre was filled up to the last place and he could still hear their cheers. God, how common, to be cheered on by them, watched as though he were a whore to put himself on display.

Fernando yanked him off the stage. "Not your scene, friend. Get yourself off stage until it's my turn to kill you."

Jack cursed his way around to where Zelina, Dawkins and the half-dozen others surrounded him and pulled off the gown, replacing it with the torn and draggled copy.

"Yer on."

He was shoved forward and stared at the lamps until he was nearly cross-eyed. Antonio poked him with his cane and he managed a pathetic shuffle as the damned heel caught again in the loose lace of the petticoats, sending him careening. Somehow, he remembered, if not the lines, the plot, gasping to catch his breath and wrenching at the skirts.

Lucretia's death was truly piteous, breathed out at the audience in an agony of pain, as the heel had turned enough to hurt and the stage splintered into his left palm. Certain he would erupt into mad laughter any moment, he collapsed, never moving until the applause faded as the curtain closed and Fernando kicked him.

Tarquin's pride and impenitence was done fine justice when Norrington glared at the audience and then Fernando as he pointed the avenging sword at him. He obediently fell and did not move at all during the poignant speech on justice and revenge, on tyrants and their fall. He was more than relieved when the curtain finally fell.

D'Yves hustled him backstage and into a dressing gown. "Get ready. The Great Ones come to pay homage! Where is our Mariella?"

Jack was far less comfortable in the trailing French gown with its plunging neckline and layers of filmy ruffles. "I feel like a bag o'sheets!"

"You look like one, too."

"An' you look like a parson on a four-day binge!"

"At least someone with a remainder of decency under the mask of depravity."

"Now, my sweet children, do not fight! Bestow your genius on your adoring public. Mariella, flirt."

A large woman gushed over James, pushing her considerable breasts in his face. "Mr. Jefferson, you were positively terrifying! I was at my wit's end with fear!"

Fernando glared at James and he smiled sweetly, bowing stiffly and kissed the woman's hand. "Milady, it certainly was not my intention to frighten you, but you must understand that above all, my duty is to the art itself." He only hoped he was sounding pathetic enough.

"Such a charming rogue!" She winked and nudged closer.

Apparently, he did.

Jack was batting his eyes at the very Commandante seeking to garrote him and, by all appearances, doing a very good job of flirting.

James was horrified. Acting on stage was bad enough, but to submit to this public ogling was hard on his pride. Had not a good third of the attendants been so obviously officers, he would have protested. As it was, he swallowed hard and settled for glaring at Sparrow.

Jack kept his voice in that upper register, the warm contralto a shock compared to his normal, baritone growl.

"But, la, sir, should I sup with you at this hour, what would my _ husband_ think?

Norrington was too preoccupied to take notice, but Fernando watched with wide eyes, a lady on his arm. She had urged a glass on him which he now raised hastily.

"To the marriage of our Mariella!" He grabbed Jack's hand with the ring and lifted that too. "Isn't it a fine ring?"

Jack lifted a hand and threatened to slap Fernando, smiled and used the toe of his pointed shoe to good effect under cover of his skirts. "Really, it is too much to burden our kind audience with my humble affairs."

"Oh you wound me, fair one! Am I too late?" The dark Spaniard at his elbow was almost drooling.

Jack hid a grin behind the painted paper. "Patience always, sir. Marriage may be all well and good, but there's room on every man's head for a set of horns."

He smiled sweetly at Norrington.

Fernando gave James a well-aimed push which propelled him close to Jack, smiling widely.

"My dearest wife, you break my heart. Were thy words not different when I bade thee for thy hand?" He stroked a hand through Sparrow's hair, warningly close to his throat.

"Only when you gave me your bank balance." Jack hissed.

He arched into James hand and planted a kiss on his lips, leaving red smudges. "My heart is always thine. And is he not such a prize, clad in splendor and striding though, a very Tarquin to my trembling soul."

The Spanish Commandante was enchanted.

Two hours later, bundled into one of the wagons, Jack scrubbed at the hard white paste coating his golden teeth with a chewed licorice root. Fernando had sweetly showed them their honeymoon suite and then bade them good night, leaving behind a complaining Jack and a scowling James.

"Bloody hell! How'd you get here! I don't know me head from me arse round this bedlam!"

"I admit, it is nigh impossible to keep them apart in your case. And if I had known _you_ were in that wagon, I may have chosen to surrender to the Spanish. They are known to at least occasionally have sense!"

"Oh shut up an' unlace me, please!" Jack turned his back with a swish, the chemise billowing around him. The corset had cinched his waist in cruelly and the stomacher pushed his posture into something that should have been stiff, but wasn't at all.

"But why? I do think it fits you charmingly." Norrington sighed and moved to undo the laces easily with one hand, half-smiling. "The last time I did this, it certainly had more satisfactory results."

"An' paid a pretty penny fer it, too, I'll warrant!" Jack retorted, breathing deeply and scratching his side. He looked around for his clothes and realised, in a daze of mingled terror and fury that he was wearing the only garment left to him. He tugged at it helplessly. "I didn't agree t'three weeks of this!"

"I fail to see how it is any more ridiculous than your usual demeanor." Norrington tore at the cape and coat, settling himself on the small bed, smiling sweetly. "And I fail to see how I have to pay anything for undressing you, my dearest wife."

"Mollyboy!" Jack wrenched the worn linen around himself and huddled into a corner of the bed. He was still breathless. Too many hours of not enough air had addled his head. "Ya jus' hate me, plain an' simple!"

"Applause, applause! Mademoiselle Sparrow has made a correct assessment!"

Jack harrumphed and turned his back, pulling the blanket up over himself. "Go fuck yer mother."

James retreated in the other corner of the bed, scowling. It was cold and he pulled the other side of the blanket around himself, which put him a lot closer to Sparrow than he wanted. "That might be milder on her than introducing my wife," he snarled.

Jack rolled over, his eyes wide. "Listen, mate, this is bloody bad enough. Don't need you on top of it. Jus' shut yer gob an' lemme sleep!" But when he turned over again, there was a hitch in his breath, a nervous exhalation that went beyond the absurd situation. He tucked into himself and tried to make himself calm.

"As you like it. That is Shakespeare, in case you do not know."

Suddenly, Jack rolled over again, his fist clutching the pillow. "Wot did they do t' my hair!"

"I realise it may be a new sensation to you, but the civilised world refers to it as washing and combing."

Jack sniffed. He felt quite lost without the weighty nest of assorted memories in it. "Ain't fair at all. Damn, that wind is bloody cold!" He really did shiver. The harbour was cool at night and it was quiet outside. "Think we could sneak outta here?"

"We could. But there are increased guards at the docks and they check literally everyone. Fernando told me, and the Commandante's wife was most excited to speak of the hunt for the dreadful English spy and that pirate. That every outgoing ship had to be checked lest they escape."

Jack groaned and rolled into James' arms. "Awright. I know when t'fold. Hold me, husband."

"Only in irons, pirate." James pushed him away.

"But it's cold!" Jack turned insistently back and curled up against James shoulder. "When did you start spyin'?

James pushed him away again, rougher this time. "Obviously cold enough for your brain to freeze if you think I would allow that; or tell you anything about my task here."

Jack hitched the long skirt up over his legs and sprawled on the bed, absently scratching his groin with a sigh of relief. "Don't get on yer high horse, mate. Spyin' ain't much better than piracy in anyone's book, so stop givin' yerself airs."

"The only air here is the bad one you are causing." James' face curled into an expressive mask of disgust, then he rolled over. "Good night."

Jack waited until his back was turned to stick out his tongue and settled back with his script. He studied diligently for five minutes, then tossed the papers aside and curled up under the blankets. It really was chilly and he was shivering, huddled into a ball around his pillow. "Hope th' real Mariella's havin' a better weddin' night!"

"If she is, then because she is a better wife," James growled. He was not about to admit that he was freezing himself, certainly not in front of the pirate. It was as if he were caught in a comedy himself, written by someone with dreadful taste in humour.

Jack rolled over and nestled closer. "Well, mebbe she's not bein' told t'shut her gob an' treated like a slop bucket."

"Maybe she isn't a consistently blathering slop bucket." James retreated to the very edge of their makeshift bed.

"Damnation, Commodore will ya stop hoggin' the blankets!" Jack gave a tug. "An' I'll give you slop! Yer in th' same bloody boat as me, so don't you start wif yer all-fired pride, mate. Yer on the run an' hidin' out, jus' like I am." Jack kicked at the sheets and shivered a little more. Maybe, if he concentrated very hard, he could get his teeth to chatter.

"If we were in a boat, you would be in the brig and all this trouble wouldn't take place. Of course, if you would shout my title a little louder, even the guards might hear it. Little wonder that you are caught so often."

James took the blankets, rolled them up and tossed them at Sparrow. "There! Now just stop talking." The annoyance kept him warm enough and he instead pulled the cape from his costume around himself. It was thin and short and not warm at all, but it would suffice, if only Sparrow stopped babbling.

Jack shook his head and missed jingle of his hair. It only served to make his mood more foul. His voice was soft. "Got any idea where me boots are? I ain't gonna wear 'em. Jus' want me flask."

He should have known his sudden black temper for what it was: the inevitable result of the heady terror of being onstage in front of hundreds and the whole attendant farce. But Jack was far too busy feeling very abused.

James rose and went to the chest where he had seen Fernando stow their clothes. It was locked. "In there."

Jack looked up at him with a comical face, lips still reddened thrust out in a pout, painted eyes smudged and sulky, then it brightened. "Ahh. We've gotta have a needle or sumpthin' round here."

Immediately, he was in action again, rummaging through cases and boxes until he found a hat pin, the wicked five inches of steel gleaming between his fingers. "Keep me from me own boots, willya?"

To a detached spirit hovering overhead, it could not have been a more ridiculous scene; the apparent 'woman' crouched next to the chest and working like an expert lockpick, the tall man trying to tuck his long legs into a prop bed in a costume-crammed mess of boxes and piles.

Jack gave the pin another twist and the lock sprang. He looked over at Norrington and grinned. "Never met one I couldn't pick 'ventually." He found the boots and fooled with the left until he had a long, narrow leather flask in hand.

"Wonderful, master thief. I only fear you would be less successful in a Spanish prison. Their brigs are one thing, but their prisons ashore are quite safe."

"Think so?" Jack's lips curled and his grin was strange even to Norrington. Without the golden teeth glinting so brightly, it was almost a sneer and completely at odds with his dancing eyes.

He tossed the flask to James. "Th' way outta any Spanish prison, or any bloody prison, mate, is cash. That'll pick a lock quicker n' anythin'. "

He went back to the bed and pulled at the blanket awkwardly, then sighed, laid it down and folded it diagonally into a rough but serviceable shawl. "Don't you say a bloody word!"

James did not exactly speak. He was holding fast to the flask and shaking with laughter.

"Cash might work for common little criminals such as yourself, but I fear the level for British officers is a little higher."

Jack bristled at the 'little' comment, his eyes narrowing. "I ain't little! And drink some o'that, if yer gonna. I'm parched." He hunched against the headboard, his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. "Wot are you laughin' at? Chrissakes, I know I look bleedin' ridiculous. Thanks a lot! An' if I'm so common, why are you so damned fast t'chase me all over the Caribbean?"

James continued to laugh, took a sip of the rum and handed it back. "Because your ship isn't. She is the only challenge left in the Caribbean that is more than a sloop."

He didn't think he needed to explain the thrill of a challenge to Sparrow, and he wouldn't, although he knew it was the same that had caused him to embark on this particular challenge. It made him feel alive.

"Of course, a sane man, unlike you, would be glad to be able to get out of prison more easily."

"Wot's easier than findin' someone t'pay yer way? Breakin' out, sure! But it ain't always possible. An' y'know, Norrington. Seems t'me that all the bother outside ain't jus' on my account. Wot 'ave you been up to makes them so fired up t'catch ya?" he smiled. He was still chilly and hunkered down under the covers with the flask.

Norrington arched an eyebrow. The worst thing was that Sparrow was right. He had a distinct idea what or rather who betrayed him, but this was certainly more of a mess than he had expected. "Why do you believe it is on my account, and even if it is, why would I tell you?"

"Well, mate, Commodores are usually guests in foreign ports when there ain't a war on. An' since I haven't heard Ole German George declare one lately, I gotta wonder wot th' hell they're chasin' you fer?" Jack's eyes, sharply intelligent and alert peered out from the curling mass of hair on the pillow.

"Don't tell if ya don't wanna. I'll figger it out soon enough. But it seems t'me that ya did me a good turn t'night. That required infermation, aye? Well, you know why I'm here an' why they're after me. That rather makes it impossible fer me t'repay ya since I'm in th' dark, as it were."

James' eyes narrowed at the offer. That certainly was a new tactic. Either the rum had softened Sparrow's demeanor, or simply supplied him with a new plan. Perhaps all the talk of buying one's way out had given him the idea to do so with Norrington's hide. But then, he could have done that the moment he realised they were looking for him.

"Sparrow, you had enough sense to arrive at this conclusion. Is it too much bother to think further and realise that if my task here is as important as you believe it is, I certainly will not reveal it to you?"

"Course you won't. Then again," he mused, "been more English than usual round these parts. Beggin' yer pardon, but it does have me wonderin'." He mulled over the puzzle of a few faces he'd seen both here in San Felipe and in Santo Domingo a few weeks earlier. He took another pull and held the flask out. "Wotever ya like, mate. Jus' hope ya don't run inta familiar faces that ye'd rather not been seein'."

"I already did, Sparrow." With a pointed look at the pirate, James took the flask and sipped from it. For a little while, he stared at it, then at the gaudy coat, neatly folded beside the bed. Again he laughed, almost hysterically.

Jack crept closer and pulled one of the blankets over him, his brows knotting. "Norrington, wot have you got yerself into? Listen, mate, I know there's been a lot of babble lately an' certain merchant vessels have gone missin' an' not because of me or any o' my kind. Yer a Navy officer! Wot th' hell put you in such a pickle? Playin' at espionage, James?" He was more than a bit concerned by the laughter. There was a high, thin note of panic under it that he recognised.

James caught himself and went still. "I am getting too old for such matters as these."

The problem was something he had not unlearnt in all his years in the Navy: If a matter was important, he had to do it himself. There was many a man he would trust with his life, but when it came to this, he could only trust himself. Betrayal was a despicable thing and he was now bitterly convinced it had taken place.

"Ahhh." Jack sat up and wrapped the blanket around Norrington's shoulders. His hands rested on them for a moment, his stare disconcerting and uncharacteristically serious. "Tried t'do a bit of reconnoissance yerself an' someone blabbed. Hurts, don't it?"

He got up and padded across the space like a small ghost to pull the curtains closer and stabbed a gaudy broach through them to hold them tight. It was absurdly chilly and he hurried back to the warmth of the bed.

James was watching him curiously. What was this sudden sympathy? An act, as on stage, or part of the reason why he had helped Sparrow before; that they were, so eloquently put, 'in the same boat'.

"The order was the other way around, but yes, your guess is fairly close," he muttered. He didn't move away as Sparrow crawled into the bed, and wordlessly lifted the blanket.

"Miserable thing, that. Don't much like betrayals. I mean, 'tis one thing it's nigh impossible t'fergive." He took another swallow of rum and plastered himself against Norrington. "Sorry 'bout it, mate. I'm so damned cold. Blood's all thinned out, y'know. Is it religion again or jus' gold that's makin' the Spanish dogs bark at Merry Olde?"

"Maybe if you drank less rum, your blood would be thicker," James muttered. For all his shivering, Sparrow was quite warm and to himself he admitted that with the blankets drawn around them both, the chill certainly had less bite. His arm was uncomfortably wedged between their bodies until he relented and put it around Sparrow. Decidedly awkward, but at least warm. "Do they ever need a particular reason? I believe the simple opportunity suffices."

Jack nestled against him. "Yer right. Nat'rul antipathy I think. Well, I'm no patriot an' don't owe England a bloody thing, but I don't much like th' games th' Spaniards play. Sneaky bastards." His tone, while disapproving, had a ring of admiration. "Anyways, can't let 'em get one up on ya, so it mus' needs that we get you home t'Port Royal intact. An' I jus' wanna get back t'me Pearl." He sniffed indignantly. "Last time I do business 'round here."

"Fernando will be disappointed. He did say you performed so much better than Mariella." James chuckled softly. "Where is the Pearl, anyway?" Strange, that for once he would ask that without capture in mind, instead escape. "Do you think we could sneak away to find her?"

Jack rolled over to face him, his glance distressingly direct. "An' why would I tell ya where she is?"

He let that retort quiver in the air between them for a moment, then grinned. "She's not too far. Three, four days' sail. If we could get back t'this lovely little boat, yes,we could. They've prob'ly searched her already but that's fine. Nothin' there t'say I was here."

James cursed under his breath. "Why did you for once not hide her in one of those useful little coves the Dauntless cannot sail into? Four days' sail and she might as well be in the East Indies. It would seem we are stuck here until the troupe continues their tour with us aboard."

Jack sighed. He secretly quite agreed with Norrington, but, considering their current predicament, was doubly glad he had opted to leave the Pearl in more secure quarters. Jack had an animal's instincts, and, unlike most men, he listened to them. Often, they appeared insane or preposterous, sometimes just superstitious or silly, but he trusted those instincts.

He'd had a strong feeling that Jose El Gordo was either playing two sides from the middle or talking out of his arse. Hence, he'd come to negotiate the sale of certain things personally and without the Pearl. He'd been right and had not so much walked into a trap as skirted around the edges. Then all hell had broken loose with soldiers running everywhere like madmen and no where safe for a private businessman to hide.

"So it was you caused all th' ruckus! Damn me, I shoulda bolted sooner."

"I humbly apologise if my presence has complicated your criminal endeavours."

This was a bloody mess, and to find himself in it with Jack Sparrow of all people was highly ironic. Not that James couldn't appreciate irony at times, but this time, it rather went too far. "May I sleep now, or do you have any further bouts of insanity planned?"

'Mariella' snored softly against his shoulder in response, blinked himself awake and smiled. "Sounds good t'me, mate. Worry about t'morra in th' mornin'."

He nestled closer and fell back to sleep within a heartbeat.

These were quite possibly the most horrible sleeping conditions James had ever had to endure. Sparrow _clung_, without the least reserve, using James' arm as pillow, snoring into his shoulder. He only hoped the bloody pirate did not drool.

Appalling or not, he eventually fell asleep as well, while inventing plans to reach the docks in secrecy and discarding them after only a moment.

   ****************************************&lt;!--&lt;wbr&gt;\--&gt;&lt;!--&lt;/wbr&gt;\--&gt;**

Jack was just drifting to consciousness, aware of being tangled in a spider's web that held him fast and he yelped, flailing.

The long chemise was twisted three times around his legs and he bounced around, fighting to get free of it and cursing quite audibly.

James started awake, hand to the bedside where normally his sword would lie.  His curses were, quite possibly, even fouler than Sparrow's.

Fernando was standing at the foot of the bed, laughing. "Up, my young couple! Wedding Night is over!

"Shut up!" Jack bellowed, throwing a shoe. "Goddamn it, where's th' rum!"

Fernando nearly toppled over laughing while James was glaring alternately at him and at Sparrow.

"A simple good morning would have sufficed."

Jack glared from under heavy, smeared lids, his hair a curling mass that tumbled into his eyes and face, like a French hunting dog gone ungroomed for years. "RUM!"

Fernando shook his head. "Sorry, no rum. But we do have porridge for breakfast."

Jack growled, rolled over and pulled the pillow on top of his head. There was a moment of silence, then a burst of laughter from outside the wagon. Zelina and Dorcas lumbered in and poked at the 'sleeping' beauty.

"James, make these persons go 'way or come back wif rum. I ain't budgin'."

Fernando and Dorcas were strong enough to hold him fast as they wedged him into the corset.

"Just like our Mariella!"

At that moment, James did have mercy and found the rum flask where it had dropped between the bedclothes and offered it to Sparrow, who was flailing wildly, battling Fernando's hands.

"Ye've no feelin' heart in ye!" Jack complained between swallows. "Damn ya man, I can't breathe!"

He collapsed onto the stool, sitting bolt upright because the amount of bone, steel and buckram in the damned thing kept him stiff as the pole up the Commodore's arse. He handed the flask back, still blinking. "Thanks. Man could perish of thirst an' you lot wouldn't care!"

Fernando was yanking at the laces to fasten them even tighter, whistling all the while.

"There is water from the fountain," he offered cheerfully, brushing Jack's hair and arranging it once more from its unruly mess. "What did you _do_ with my wonderful headdress?" he admonished in a motherly, chastising tone. Then he peered into James' direction. "Or what did _he_ do with it?"

Jack tried to punch him and missed. "God Almighty, can't ya let me be fer two minutes!" he roared.

"As soon as I am done with you, my sweet stubborn filly."

On the other side of the narrow wagon, James was warding off Zelina's and Dorcas' attempts to help him dress and cooing admiration of his beard, proclaiming that he must not shave it.

Jack sat still after Fernando yanked his hair so hard he whimpered and watched James' arms and legs being thrust into various garments in the mirror, giggling.

When the infuriating redhead tried to wipe his eyes, he grabbed the rag.

"Oh lemme do it. I know bloody how." He took advantage of the basin Dorcas had brought with her and washed his face, letting Fernando shave him and glaring cutlasses and 9-pounders at him.

Once his eyes were done, the irrepressible Fernando began pasting and powdering until he thought he would sneeze himself to death.

"James, are you alive?"

He was, but rather too busy fighting off any attempts to dress him in a wig of long dark hair which still smelled of horse.

"Enough! This is ridiculous enough as is!"

"I do not think it is ridiculous. You are most dashing." Dorcas leaned close.

James cursed.

She grinned and began to carefully darken the areas where his beard already showed, adding a touch to his brows and just a touch of rouge to his lips.

"There's a luvvie. Ye'll break their hearts. Our noble host has come t'watch the rehearsal, so mind yerselves. Sir. Madame."

Jack turned with a pained expression.

Fernando had outdone himself with Jack's hair. It billowed around his face, piled atop his head and cascading down his neck in long ringlets.

"I don't think I can live through three weeks o'this, mate." More rum poured between cherry red lips.

"Nonsense! You will charm everyone out of their mind and will learn to love it!" Fernando clapped his hands. "Such a beautiful couple!"

James groaned. "And who is this 'noble host'?"

Dorcas clapped and Zelina stopped fussing with the lace around Jack's 'bosom'. "No one a'tall. But the Guv'nor himself. An' that grand soldier and a coupla his officers." She winked. "I know I'll make my keep t'night!"

"Please tell me he has not brought his mistress again."

Dorcas giggled. "Oh no. He's an eye fer our black-haired lovely."

The trio burst into fits of giggles as Fernando pulled the twice-turned velvet gown tight around Jack and laced it. He fluffed the 'lace' collar and beamed at James.

A look of pure horror was on James' face. Not only would he have to play along with the marriage tale, he would have to enforce it, make certain that no one got close enough to 'Mariella' to realise that she was in fact Jack Sparrow.

"I am doomed," he muttered. "O, what men dare do!"

  
End Act One

[Act Two](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113065.html)

NOTES: We are the miscreants responsible for the overblown Rape of Lucrece. Our abject apologies to Shakespeare.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'newlyweds' become aware of the many ramifications of corsetry and the artistic merits of flirtation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are going to hell, but Jack did remember Katarina's lines. We hope Skakespeare laughed at him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:**   
|   
giddy  
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**Current music:**   
| Chianti Song---Andre Rieu  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|    
[fiction](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/tag/fiction)   
  
  
_**FIC: Merely Players 2/5**_  
AUTHORS: [](http://elessil.livejournal.com/profile)[**elessil**](http://elessil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/profile)[**hippediva**](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/)  
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns them. We plunder  
RATING: PG through NC17. **This chapter contains a R-rated illustration.**  
PAIRING: Sparrington  
WARNINGS: masks and secrets and extreme insanity

SUMMARY: The 'newlyweds' become aware of the many ramifications of corsetry and the artistic merits of flirtation.

In honour of Carnivale, we offer a masquerade. The story is complete and we will post each chapter daily.

Previously: [Act One](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/112721.html#cutid1)

"But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak."

James nervously glanced over the audience, so few now, so few that he could see every single gaze trained on him, watching attentively; amused. None seemed to suspect he was no actor, on the contrary, the Governor had been so delighted by the last night's performance that their improvised theatre on the town square had been enlarged. Wonderful. More people to witness his utter humiliation.

That alone was bad enough, but the Commandante sat in the audience as well, staring curiously. James could see it in his gaze when Jack entered the stage and he turned to face him, silent for a moment.

Was this Jack Sparrow, or had the true Mariella returned? No, he recognised those eyes, the turn of the brow and the cheekbone, but he admit to admit that Sparrow gave an impressive show as woman. If only he would remember his lines as impressively! They had been barely given the time to read it once. James had been relieved to find it a Shakespearean text, with which he was familiar enough, terror following on its heels when he realised that Sparrow would certainly not have been raised with those texts.

That Sparrow would not know them could, with a blunder, destroy their cover, in front of the military and the civil commander of this port, no less. He inwardly cursed as Jack approached, wondering if he could mutter so softly that only Sparrow but no one else would overhear.

"Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear," he intoned loudly.

Jack swayed right to his face, staring up with resentful dark eyes.

"Well have you heard," He leaned forward to James' upstage ear and shouted, "BUT SOMEWHAT HARD OF HEARING:"

He flounced away, and whirled, skirts flying, arms crossed. "They call me Katharina that do talk of me."

Despite his ringing ear, James breathed a sigh of relief. Sparrow had remembered at least a few of the lines. It would not be a complete disaster. Perhaps he could help with some of the others and certainly, the rest could be explained by fatigue, illness or any number of reasons.

He lifted one hand, stepping closer.

"You _lie_, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate," He circled Sparrow, continuing his lines with each step. Then stopped, went to his knees in front of him.

"Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,  
Thy _virtues_ spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,  
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,  
Myself am moved to woo thee for _my wife_. "

Jack listened, watching him sympathetically, slowly bringing forward a stool and gesturing to it with exaggerated kindness. James narrowly missed landing on his bottom when he kicked the stool out at "why, what's a moveable?".

The Governor was in heaven. The Commandante watched the Governor and Mariella with jealous eyes. Fernando grinned like Puck and D'Yves just smiled at the stacks of coins piling in his agile brain.

Answer followed answer, and it seemed almost natural, as though they had fallen back into their habit of countering each other's every word. James didn't like the glint in Sparrow's eyes at all.

"Good Kate; I am a gentleman." And yes, Sparrow, I am bloody serious about that and will not be made even more a fool in public.

Jack spun around, his face sugar and cherries in the blaze of the sunlight. He swayed forward, dark eyes seductive. "That I'll try," he purred, then raised his right hand and walloped James across the jaw.

There was an infuriating smile on his painted lips.

James itched to strike back, reflexively, but standing in front of him was a woman, and he would not. "I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again." The glare in his eyes enforced the promised retribution.

"STOP! Sir! This is too much! You cannot strike her! I forbid it." Jack was staring up into James' eyes challengingly, then blinked and turned to look out into the audience.

The Commandante was striding up toward the stage.

"Sir! Theatre is art! You must not!" Solomon D'Yves fussed with his periwig and scowled.

Jack bit his lip.

Solomon's voice rose over the chatter of the officers and those backstage. "Quiet. Please, sir....I implore you. Oh God, will this be violent?"

James was torn out of the moment, reminded forcibly that there was more at risk, and that 'Kate' was a man who could be unmasked any second. He remembered the words from before, the reminder not to offend the noble visitors in any way. He rather thought that pointing out their ignorance was unacceptable for him in this position. Instead he smiled sweetly.

"Good Sir, I agree with you entirely. And what art demands, an artist must yield. If the poet bids my wife to strike, then she shall. And I, a gentleman in play and truth, shall at worst threaten to retort."

Jack, standing frozen beside him, clapped excitedly and rose up on his toes to kiss James' cheek. He smiled and turned on the brave soldier, his eyes becoming insolent.

"And what in heaven's sight, cause do you have to interrupt me. Would you like my Kate, sir? I am more than happy to oblige you."

He was stalking the tall man like a panther, then he stopped and looked. "Then again, I could forgive any man so moved by our performance."

He waited imperiously as Jaime Escobedos y Narantes hurried to kiss his outstretched hand.

James stepped beside him and slipped an arm around his waist, apparently gentle, but in truth to hold him back from any further insanities.

"You must forgive my wife, Sir. She immerses so deeply into a role that she may at times forget what is proper."

Jack's fingers lingered seductively on the smooth-shaven face as he let Norrington pull him away from the slavering Spaniard.

"Of course, love. Forgive us, sir. We ai-aren't used to being observed in rehearsal." His smile at James was uncanny, so genuine it was painful. His laugh was a delighted gurgle.

The Governor rose from his seat, clearly displeased at the attention the Commandante was getting.

"Now, Sir, you have heard her. Be a gentleman and do not interrupt the artists at work."

James could see both their glances linger on Jack, and he glared back possessively, demonstratively tightening his hold. He had already seen the Spaniard lift his arm, to touch Jack as if by coincidence, and he doubted the woolen bosom would stand much inspection.

James was immediately facing the black glare of death as the Commandante stood tall and bowed elaborately to Jack. "Madame. I beg you forgive me. You have driven me mad with envy. Sir." He saluted James elaborately. There was no mistaking the challenge in his eyes.

He returned to his seat beside the Governor and Jack turned, hands over his mouth, shoulders shaking.

James bent close as if to whisper some tenderness into his ear, but what came out was a hissed, "Idiot."

Jack giggled. "Ahhh. Me public."

*************************************

The afternoon was like wading through a pit of vipers, with vultures poised to swoop down and swallow them both. Jack was dizzy with taxing his memory, and he swore he would cut Norrington's throat after the wedding night spanking. From the frenzy of whispering and the outraged shouts, he imagined the Commandante would be happy to do it for him.

But Katharina was running out of air. And rum. She seemed truly cowed and broken until her last speech, declaimed from where she knelt at Petruchio's feet.

"My hand is ready, may it do him ease."

His hand wavered in front of his face and his voice sounded odd and faraway. He blinked and swayed as Norrington got closer, then further, closer and he sighed.

James pulled him to his feet and put an arm around him, relieved that now, at least, the matter was over.

"Why, there's a wench!" They had touched and pushed often enough, but never had Sparrow been so limp in his arms.

"Come on, and kiss me, Kate." He was scowling, invisible to the audience and bent close, wary.

Sparrow didn't move. No infuriating grin, not as much as a blink. And still unmoving, unconscious. "Come on, and kiss me, Kate," he repeated. Still no reaction. "J--Mariella?"

Fernando, on stage as Hortensio, rushed closer when he realised the act was quite finished. "Oh dear!" he exclaimed.

James was painfully reminded of Elizabeth, lying there and gasping for breath on the docks, limp. With a sudden flinch, he realised the cause: the corset. He cursed. He could not well take it off here.

He pulled his 'wife' into his arms, lifted her, turning to apologise to the audience. "I beg your pardon, but my wife is unwell."

He stalked away, carrying Sparrow, as Fernando stepped in the way of Commandante and Governor when they threatened to follow.

Fernando smiled sweetly. "Our Mariella is in a delicate condition. Everything will be quite all right, she is in good hands with her husband, the proud father."

James had carried Jack to one of the wagons, drew the curtains and then yanked at the corset, kneeling worriedly beside him. The pirate's face was bloodless, rendered a dreadful shade of yellow under all the powder. His lashes quivered and his lips worked, breath coming in short, painful gasps. James' fingers fumbled with the laces as Jack cursed hoarsely.

"Easy now, easy." He held Sparrow fast as he coughed into his next breath, easing the hair from his face and finding the rum flask, almost empty now.

Jack sputtered and choked, sucked whatever was left of the rum like mother's milk and lay gasping in James' arms. "Good God." He blinked. "That's bloody torture!"

Outside the wagon, the guests were torn between the urge to applaud the scene or the blessed event anticipated. It certainly explained all those rumours of an elopement just after the troupe had landed. The Commandante looked fit to kill. D'Yves smiled beatifically at one and all and promised himself to send a bottle of Cuban rum to the newlyweds' wagon.

James, blissfully oblivious of the new addition to the rumour, lifted Sparrow again and carried him to the bed the moment he heard steps outside of the wagon. He quickly draped the blankets around him, holding the rum for him to sip from it, a hand brushing his hair from his face.

The curtain was drawn aside and the Governor entered, his face curling into a grimace of disgust, then he joined James by the bedside, fairly pushing him away and grabbing one of the dark hands, scrubbed clean by Fernando.

"Madame, what a shock! You must not overtax yourself." He turned to glare at James. "Really Sir, one should think that a responsible husband would be more careful of his wife, especially under such conditions."

Jack sat bolt upright, staring blankly at James. "Rum?" he queried before collapsing to blink at the stars sparkling just outside his sight. He decided that sitting up wasn't a good idea and forced his arm up around Norrington's neck. "My fault entirely," he gasped.

"Shhhh." James urged him down again, rearranging the blankets quickly under the scrutiny of the Governor, who was sneering.

"Now really, this is no place for an expecting mother. Madame, I insist that you must stay at my mansion." A short pause, then he eyed James. "With your husband, of course."

Jack raised his head. Anything would be better than sleeping in the blasted wagon and hopefully, the attentive Governor had rum. He held out one hand, smiling weakly. "Oh would you? I really don't think I can bear another night like this." He sank back to the pillows with a little sigh.

Governor Zapatagorda kissed the limp hand and fumbled over his walking stick to stick his head out of the wagon, calling loudly for his carriage. His valet helped him down and he and Don Jaime spoke earnestly about the poor lady's sad condition.

They did so directly in front of the wagon, peering worriedly inside. James cursed silently.

"Are you completely insane? Do you want to pretend being a woman all day? A _pregnant_ woman?," he hissed. He had a good idea who was responsible for that little addition to the tale. "I will blame this on the lack of air in your head."

He quickly gathered their personal belongings from the sprung chest, then stared at Jack again. He couldn't very well dress him in the corset again, but a thin shift with woolen breasts would not be fitting either. So he simply lifted Sparrow, wrapped artfully into the blankets, the corset tucked in at the side.

Jack batted at him. "Put me down an' lace that thing up again!" he snapped but he was still too woozy to walk. "Bring one of th' damned frocks, willya. An' me flask. Tell bloody Fernando t'get our things fast." He whispered urgently, still trying to squirm his way to his feet.

"Thank you, but I am well aware of these things. Unlike you, my dear expectant _wife_, I still seem to have retained the ability to think clearly. And now, if you would hold still."

He had the corset and the rum flask tucked under the blanket, a dress wrapped around it, carrying Sparrow out in a deathgrip that seemed tender and worried.

Fernando stood close by and he turned, snarling, "If you do not want to lose the ability to get your own children, I would suggest you bring our possessions quickly." Fernando went satisfyingly pale at the whispered threat and rushed away to collect the required booty.

Forcing the glare away with a smile, James turned to the waiting Governor, trying hard to ignore Don Jaime's murderous stares.

"Forgive my lack of gratitude before, Sir. I was most worried about my wife and I beg you to understand. We are both most grateful of your offer, and I thank you in both her name and mine."

Jack kept his face buried against James' shoulder, terrified he would start giggling and never be able to stop.

The carriage ride was an experience he would never forget, wedged between the Governor and James, bounced around like a ball. He was perfectly happy to let James carry him into the fine mansion. Then he peeked out from under his hair, eyes wide at the splendour of the hall and the length of the curving grand staircase.

"Put me down, f'fuck's sake," he whispered. "Ye'll never hoist me up 'em."

"You have not yet put on the weight of pregnancy, my dear. And you are in no condition to walk." In no state of dress rather, but it hardly mattered. Sparrow was perhaps a little heavier than most women, but he had more than once carried wounded comrades, men far heavier than the pirate. He focused on taking one step after the other, and eventually the Governor's maid showed them their guestroom.

Jack was dumped onto the sumptuous bed in a heap. He looked around at the crimson silk curtains and matching hanging around the bed, the fine carpets and spindly, gilded furnishings. "Looks like a Marseilles whorehouse."

"I am certain the good Governor has something similar in mind."

Much refreshed from the aid and a bit of air, 'Mariella' bounded to her feet. "Oh, bugger him. Willya look at this place!"

He prowled around, then went to the bed and pulled one of the fine woolen blankets around himself. Just in case. He peered through the curtains. "Good Lord, James, lookit this."

The French doors opened to a curved balcony overlooking a manicured lawn and garden.

Certainly, it was a finer place than a dirty, narrow wagon.

"I rather think that if at all, he will bugger you, but I do think his preferences run in another direction. Which is exactly the problem. I have to admit you are not bad at it, but do you really want to pretend to be a women all day? One look or touch at the wrong time and we are both as good as dead!"

"Stop worryin'. I can handle him." Jack was poking around the mirrored dressing table and held up a silver letter opener the length and sharpness of a stiletto. He pulled up the chemise and stuck it in the blue garter and considered the tactical brilliance of female undergarments.

"Now get me back inta that thing. Jus' don't lace it so damned tight. Besides," he stood with his back to James, holding the corset up, "no better place t'find out wot went wrong an' who's out fer yer neck. Or catch 'em."

"Bloody idiot. You still obviously do not have enough air in your head. Oh, and the good Governor bade us to join him for dinner if your condition permits."

James laced the corset again, as loosely as he could. It was a difficult procedure. While he had experience with opening it, to lace it evenly and loosely was a challenge. "There. Can you breathe properly?"

"Ya can haul it in a bit tighter down there. I'm awright long as me ribs don't feel crushed. Where's the frock?"

He turned and grinned at James. "Thanks fer not letting me suffocate. An' stop fussin'. It'll be awright. Let's see who's wif us, eh?"

The dark eyes were dancing with mischief as he pulled the velvet over his head and waited for James to lace it. He peered at himself in the mirror and fussed a bit with his hair, then retied the faded green ribbon and tarnished locket around his neck. "Awright, mate. I'm ready."

James quickly washed his face, considered shaving the beard, but then Fernando might only think up worse rumours in vengeance. He ran his hand to Sparrow's hair, lingering in surprise at the soft texture, then arranged it to fall neatly over his collar, hiding the too-strong muscles there. He offered his arm as he would to a woman. "Shall we?"

Jack took his arm and they descended the stairs together, Jack's lips twitching every now and then. Below them, the Governor, D'Yves with Fernando in attendance and the Commandante waited. The rouged mouth twitched a little more.

"Governor, thank you so much. I am so sorry. My work does get so taxing!" He held out his hand, remembering at the last minute that he no longer had a mustache to hide his grin.

The Governor bowed and kissed it. "Madame, it is my pleasure. I do not understand how your husband can allow you such work in your condition. We were all so worried about you."

James smiled again as he inwardly fought against biting his tongue. "If you knew my wife, you would know that there is little I can do against her charms if she has set her mind on something."

Jack laughed airily. "Well, he hasn't had much practise yet, has he?"

He met the Commandante's gaze directly, laughing. "I'm really overcome with gratitude." Jack eyed the ruby in the Governor's cravat hungrily.

The Governor was still for a moment, one eyebrow marginally creeping up, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Now, if you would please follow me, I do believe dinner is ready. You must eat, Madame, to strengthen both yourself and your child."

Jack batted his eyes at James and took the Governor's arm, trying to remember if he was supposed to walk pigeon-toed or duck-foot to get the heavy skirt to swing. "You are too kind. And such a magnificent home."

Jack seemed to be managing the Governor perfectly.

The Commandante's jealous gaze wandered from James to the Governor.

Dinner was an utter catastrophe. Sparrow flirted through every course, chuckling in high-pitched delight and more than sipping the fine white wine that was served with it. James maintained polite conversation with whichever of the two was not entertained by 'Mariella', and hence proceeded to field thinly veiled insults into his direction, regarding what manners of luxuries he could not afford her.

As a gentleman, he was bred to ignore such matters and he managed as best he could, smiling politely until he thought his lips might split.

Mariella, for a woman who had so recently been so delicate, thoroughly enjoyed the meal, eating heartily until her husband kicked her under the table and she slowed down.

Jack was having far too much fun to notice that the wine was quite potent and the polite banter was starting to falter into less refined jokes. He giggled, he laughed, he glared, he pouted. In short, he did everything he usually did, only in a higher register. By the time the very delicious dessert was cleared away, he was amply full and ready for more fun.

But rum atop wine could be a dangerous combination, had Jack recalled his early lessons in the manly art of drinking.

"My dearest Mariella, are you not tired? I will not have you overtax yourself." James' tone was innocent and concerned, a harmless question, but the second kick under the table suggested that Mariella had better be tired and excuse herself from the company while she still could.

Jack winced and put his hand on James' arm, docile and smiling sweetly.

"I am terribly tired, sirs. It has been a long day. Commandante, perhaps, sir, we can arrange a paso doble and I might have the pleasure. Governor, you are an angel of mercy. I could never find words to thank you."

Jack hitched the decanter of rum he'd stashed under the skirt a little closer and dutifully let James lead him upstairs.

Governor and Commandante were most disappointed by her leave, but quickly covered it with declarations of agreement, wishing that she might recover quickly, and that her husband had better allow her a long period of rest.

Upstairs, James had to hold himself back from slamming the door closed and keep his voice low. "You despicable fool! Do you want to get us both hanged?"

Jack was gulping from the decanter and waved one hand. "Don't be ridiculous. An' stop kickin' me! " He put the decanter on the dressing table and started pulling the pins from his hair. "Jesus Christ, I swear they're all stickin' straight inta me skull!"

"No, that is your stupidity which hurts. I am glad that I am not the only victim."

James took the decanter and put it on top of a cupboard, too high for Sparrow to reach. "You've had enough of that."

He glared, trembling with a rage that was burning so high because it covered no little fear. "Are you in such a dire need of a thorough buggering that you behave like a cat in heat? You may have forgotten, but I doubt they will be very pleased to find woolen breasts instead of flesh."

Jack grinned at him, jumping to get at the decanter and hiccuped. "That's why you're here, luv. T'keep me safe from harm. Get that down dammit!"

He made another try, lost his balance and fell into James' arms, laughing helplessly. "Sorry. Sorry, jus' can't help it."

"Be glad that you are dressed as a woman, else I would not know what I would do," James warned, setting him on his feet again. "I am quite thoroughly sick of having to play the jealous husband."

Jack giggled and winked at him. "But y'make such a lovely jealous husband, all glowerin' and fierce." He hiccuped again and made another try for the decanter. "C'mon, luv. Don't be such a bloody tease!"

"No. You are quite drunk enough already. If I get to be the jealous husband who has to watch out for your nonexistent virtue, I can also be the husband to forbid you further indulging."

Jack pouted. Or was it Mariella? It was hard to tell and it made James' head spin a bit, that harsh voice emerging from the rouged and laughing lips. "Please. I'll be quiet, promise. Besides, I foun' sumpthin' out fer ya."

"What did you find out? Jack Sparrow with rouge is as much of a rogue as without? That the task of a wife is to needle her 'husband' to no end and whore herself out to every man at table?"

Jack swayed closer, beckoning. "If I tell ya, can I have the bloody bottle?" He waited until James was face to face, noses almost touching. "He's got 'nother English *hic*. English *hic*. Bloke comin'. Some merchant *hic*."

James' eyes shot up. He got the decanter, but still held it out of Sparrow's reach. "His name?"

"Thomas--Son? Tomthumb? Thompson? Thompson, tha' was it!" Jack made a grab for the decanter, hampered by the heavy velvet and the corset. He sulked quite prettily. "Yes, it were Thompson. That mean something t'you?"

James went quite thoroughly still, pressing the decanter into Sparrow's hand without another word, staring blankly while he guzzled. "When?" he eventually managed.

Jack wiped his mouth with his hand, his eyes suddenly quite clear and sharp. "T'morrow, maybe the day after. There's some fiesta happenin'. We'll be doin' Lucretia. Wot's wrong? James?" He left the decanter on the dressing table and watched Norrington cautiously.

James had sat down on the bed and was cursing silently, frantically thinking. "Thompson is the reason I am here."

Jack crouched at his feet, looking up at his face, white and strained. "Will he know you by sight?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. He could, but not necessarily. We have met twice, at bigger receptions. Likely not, without the wig and with the beard."

"Awright, then. Relax. James, breathe. It's not as bad as you think. If he's the reason yer here, y'might still get wot ya come for. Jus' sneaky-like." Jack sat on the carpet in a pool of faded green velvet. "I can keep him away from you, if it gets sticky. An' keep my ears open too."

James chuckled, strained. "For all that I know he might know that I am here already." He arched an eyebrow. "If by keeping him away you mean parading yourself as you do in front of the Commandante and the Governor, don't. I am already beginning to wonder if surrendering myself were not the better choice."

Jack grimaced. "Don't take no notice of it, mate. Jus' playin' 'em up a bit." His lips curved into a small, secret smile. "Used to watch it all the time. Hope he sees the show. He won't remember a thing 'bout James Norrington. Believe that."

Jack had crossed his legs and was looking at James intently, no sign of his former drunkenness evident. The Commodore was awfully pale and twitchy. "James, yer gonna get yerself killed." His voice was gentle. "I'm not here to cross ya. I'd rather help, if ye'll let me."

James peered down at him, blinking every now and then. The situation simply was too bizarre for words. "Why?"

"Because I gotta get clear myself, right? Since we jumped inta that wagon, I'd had a feelin' we were gonna have t'get ourselves outta this together. Now, I swear, on pain of death, I will tell you wotever you wanna know about my business here, because I got a hunch its related to yours." Jack's hands were spread, fingers moving as he spoke, the white shadows of his rings very evident in the light.

James groaned and rubbed his temples. It was obvious that in this, the Spanish were the worse enemies than Sparrow. Still, could he afford to pull the pirate further into this, to give up more information? "And how do I know you are not simply working together with the Spaniards and intend to sell me out at the first opportunity?"

Jack shook his head. "I come here t'sell goods, not buy. And was set upon by a pack o'hounds looking fer papers. Wot I got is a helluva lot heavier. Word's been out for weeks that there's something brewin' between the Spanish and the Dutch, an' the Dutch are appealing to England."

His fluttering fingers waved impatiently. "I manage t'get out of that mess and find meself in a wagon wif you, I gotta figger that the missin' papers, me own inhospitable reception, and you bein' chased by milita...well, luv, that don't sound like a coincidence t'me."

In lieu of an answer, James unbuttoned his breeches and pulled a thin packet of folded papers from his smallclothes, then stowed them away again. "One could say so. This, normally, is not my task at all. But we lost a lot of ships these past months, both British and Dutch, and our information on Spanish routes proved incorrect more often than not."

He paused. "Yes, a traitor," he hissed. "I came here to find proof. But he now knows that I have it."

Jack whistled through his teeth. "Y'know wot ship they were carried on? Was it the Archangelo?" His eyes were steady.

James eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know?"

Jack grinned. "That explains my reception. They must be a step behind you or...?" Jack's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, they think I picked 'em up for you! Neptune's nipples, that's a new one! Y'see, the Pearl took the Archangelo a week back." His eyes were challenging James to scold him.

James didn't. His eyes were far too wide, and again there was that almost hysterical laughter. "Bloody hell!"

Jack chuckled. "Heard from some of the crew that they'd dropped off two passengers at Guyana a day b'fore we took her. Nice little cargo, no fuss. Then I get here t'make some business arrangements wif it, an' end up hidin' in a wagon." He held up one hand. "Don't tell me wot they are, James. Better if I don't know at th' moment."

"Better if you don't know at all." James straightened. "I will get these to Port Royal. I must." Insane as it might seem to him, he had to accept even Jack Sparrow's help. It was paramount he fulfil his mission. "Very well then. So each helps the other to retain his masquerade?"

"Right. Now y'know this miscreant t'be a traitor how? He's in bed wif the Spanish, that's obvious. Wot's he tradin' in that some all-fired...." Jack stopped, his mouth open and stared at James. "Fired. The cannons. They're new designs. Mother o' God, I got forty of 'em loaded onta the Pearl." He started to laugh and sat down with the decanter between his crossed legs, grinning like a madman. Or woman. "Looks like we're happily married, Commodore." He raised the bottle.

James groaned, took the bottle and drank.

Jack could not stop grinning. He had tingled before setting out in a borrowed little boat from the Pearl. His palms itched, his toes were twitchy and the right corner of his mouth had insisted on smiling. That always meant an adventure of some sort. This was priceless and he swished to his feet and sat on James' knee, taking a sip. "I told ya I loved weddin's."

"Forgive me if I say that I had not imagined mine quite like this." James was still staring blankly.

The thrill of a challenge was one thing, but this was more than just unexpected. He clenched his chin. Well, then, so it was. He would deal with it, and if that required being an actor both on and off stage, he would.

Jack stretched and turned his back. "Could ya unlace me so we can sleep? I mean, it's a lot o' bother!" He smiled back over his shoulder.

"Of course," James answered reflexively, brushing Sparrow's hair aside so he could reach the laces. Again he was surprised by how soft it was, like a woman's, fitting to the figure Jack cut in the corset, lithe, graceful, feminine. Strange to know a dangerous pirate lurked beneath this helpless facade.

Jack wriggled out of the gown and the corset with a sigh of relief as he pulled the long chemise out of the ridges carved into his skin. He was about to make some inane remark when he saw Norrington's eyes, fixed on his, dark green and no, not dangerous. Desiring. It was Jack's turn to go blank.

James swallowed, then turned away with a start. He had watched all the time, now suddenly there was the same embarrassment he would feel watching a woman undress. "A quite convincing deception," he stuttered.

Jack had a strange sensation of being two people at once, one who was moving towards Norrington, aware of every sensation; the other, watching them both and laughing himself pissless. There was a thrill in being desired and Jack was no man's martyr. He was close enough to recognise the scent of James' skin from last night, the faint cloud of verbena sharpening it. His head tilted up.

"Is it?"

James swallowed hard again, but no matter what he did, his mouth remained quite dry. "Yes, even knowing I find myself wondering at times if I am facing Jack Sparrow or Mariella." This was embarrassing and ridiculous. "But then, the Governor's and Commandante's reaction are obvious enough."

Jack's eye floated up at him under lazy lashes. "Ridiculous. I know it is, mate. But very effective." He was a chameleon, drifting between seductive female to predatory male until they were indistinguishable from one another. He watched James' lips, tongue snaking out unconsciously, and smiled.

"Quite so." James' eyes were dark, assessing, and he wondered if the golden skin would feel smooth or callused to his touch, soft flesh or hard muscle. Whether the lips would be as soft as their bow promised, or hard and weather-beaten from a life at sea. He inched yet closer, then dropped his hand with a start and took a step back.

Jack stalked him, backing him up, step by step, almost dizzy, watching himself reflected in James' eyes.

He made it a point of honour to never deny himself anything he wanted if he thought he could get away with it. He pushed James onto the bed, leaned down and kissed him.

James always closed his eyes when kissed. It was a habit that he had never shed. They just slid close when something happened, be that cannonfire or a kiss. What this was, he wasn't quite certain. His rational part knew this was Jack Sparrow, and that cannonfire was the better comparison, but with his eyes closed it was difficult to support that statement. Certainly, the hands that held him down on the bed were strong, but the fingers thin, delicate. The hair that tickled his open collar was long, curled, soft. There was the scent of the heavy perfume Fernando had used, and the rustle of a skirt.

And though the lips were active, took, they, too, were soft, yielding, parting ever so pleased when he moaned softly.

They tasted of white wine, rum, something sharper, the tang of metal; the smell of powder tickling in his nose; then a throaty sigh startled him back to awareness, and he broke the kiss. "What...?"

Jack backed away, smiling. "Jus' checkin'," he laughed and stood, half-turned towards the candles, his face in darkness.

What a bloody lark! And he'd wanted to do that ever since their first meeting. He hadn't expected to be doing it in a frock, true. Nevertheless, it was lovely and he wanted more. That wasn't going to keep him from playing cat and mouse a bit longer. Jack was too mired in the stews of his birth not to have learned very early that prizes too easily caught lose their value.

"A husbandly kiss, indeed, but not Tarquin, surely?" he teased in Mariella's soft voice.

James sat on the bed, forcing his breath to calm; wiping the red colour from his lips. This was Jack Sparrow, he reminded himself. No matter how pretty, feminine or even helpless he might look, he was a pirate. Not the most bloodthirsty perhaps, but all the more dangerous.

James went very still at the last words, then said stiffly, "Certainly not. Even if you have little in common with Lucrece, I do not take where it is not offered."

"Ah, but as your wife, I need not offer wot was freely given in that most holy of bonds. An' it does seem that I kissed you. Or, " Jack wheeled around from the shadows by the wardrobe, yards of crimson satin billowing around him. He swayed back into the light, pulling the dressing gown closed with a flutter of lace. "Are you one o'those who're shy an' need some coaxing." The dark eyes were teasing.

James remained silent, keeping his gaze even and focused on Sparrow, betraying nothing. This was embarrassing enough already, and he would not let the pirate make yet more of a fool of him, flirting and goading only to laugh about it later. "You know very well, Sparrow, that we are not truly married, and at any rate, you parade yourself more like a whore than a wife."

"Oh! So that's wot you're wantin'. Could be arranged, too." He moved differently without the boots.

In truth, he was different, stripped of his pirate finery, gaudy at best, tawdry all over. This gown was a rich women's robe, probably never seen by any but her lovers and her maids. Its English back fell straight to trail behind him as he moved, rustling wavelets of deep ruby.

He poured two glasses from the decanter and swayed closer to hand one to James. "Wife, whore. Is there a difference in th' dark?"

"Any number of differences, Sparrow." James' breath was slightly rough, and he wondered where in this Sparrow lay. His damnable allure was like that of a costly whore, playing every bodily attribute to best advantage, but at the same time there was something so very personal about this man, entirely different from a dalliance with a drab. And he was a man, which only added to the fascination. Perhaps it was only the shared danger that made him think of long-ago moments in a narrow hold with a dear shipmate.

Jack caught at the dressing table, wavering. He decided he was bewitched by candlelight, green eyes and red satin. The combination was delicious and so was the masquerade. Hiding places within hiding places, a little voice inside him sneered.

He laughed at it. "Well, James, luv. If it's the whore you want." He pulled Norrington up to his feet, guiding his arms around his waist. "Kiss me."

"First, a man would never kiss a whore."

And still James did, his lips insistent and rough, far rougher than he would ever be with his wife, perhaps a concession to his knowledge that Sparrow was a man, after all. "He would not do this," he whispered, his lips trailing a soft, wet path along Jack's throat, warm breath into his ear.

The sleeves whispered along Sparrow's arms as they wound around Norrington's neck, falling back to expose sinew and hard muscle, tattoos, that brand. But neither of them was paying the slightest bit of attention. Jack's back arched under James' hands, letting himself be backed against the wall, framing them ridiculously in an arbour of wallpaper flowers.

"Nor would he do this." James voice was almost a whisper as he brushed Jack's hair aside, lingering in its softness, thumb caressing from the cheek outwards, following the strongly defined bone, smearing a bit of the rouge, like a blush fading to strange places.

"Yet, on the other hand, to his wife, he would never ever do this." Suddenly his voice was sharper, stricter, that strange tenderness gone as he pushed Jack hard against the wall, hand slipping down to tangle in the red fabric, hitching it up one golden leg.

Jack gasped under the touch, surprised at the fine, white hands that hoisted the skirt and chemise. He was just a little afraid of sinking into this strange mire of sparkling wine and dark rum, of fingers reaching beneath clothing and his own delight in the game. He locked that leg around James' hip, breathing a sigh and he let himself drift. The air on his half-exposed leg was chilly and he wondered if that's why women always balked.

"Don't think a proper wife would...oh....say 'take ya standin' fer ha'pence,' either."

"So you do admit that, even in the dark, there is a difference?" James whispered against Jack's ear, a mischievous half-smile on his face as he hoisted them both further sideways, until he could reach for the dressing table. There was an oil used to make hair seem soft and glinting, and he grabbed it.

"Which leaves just one question, Jack. Do you prefer being the wife," he pressed another kiss to those red lips, gentle, almost but not quite chaste, "or," he shifted, his voice dropping into a growl, "the whore?" His one hand hefted Jack's leg securely in place, the other had slipped lower to open his breeches, and now his slicked prick nudged against Jack's thigh.

Jack gulped and panted against his chest. "A proper wife knows when 'tis time t'play the whore." His head was spinning, his cock hard as bone and he was more than addled. James' fingers were driving him mad, twisting along that excruciating place just behind his balls. "Oh, GOD!" he buried his face in the broadcloth as they found their mark.

"While it is necessary for a wife to be obedient, there is no need to call her husband God," James chided, hitching Jack's leg up even higher, until he could brush his prick against Jack's opening, just barely, holding himself back out of a sense of superiority, tempering his hunger.

The skirt rustled when he did push, a strange, constant sound as he eased himself inside, mingling with the sultry moan Jack breathed into his ear.

Jack wavered, poised on one foot, then gripped James' shoulders hard and hopped up to lock both legs around his waist, his back pressed against the wall. He curled forward a little, then more and slammed his head back with a choked whimper. "There ya go, luv. All tucked in nice....an'...oh good God, just fuck me!" He was hanging on to James' shoulders, trusting that the Commodore wasn't going to pitch him to the floor.

It would be theatrical but most disappointing if he did, but James didn't seem to be pitching anywhere except inside of him.

There was many a flicker in James' eyes, and not all of them were caused by the two lonely lamps, and just like that, his fingers tightened and loosened on Jack's hips.

"As you wish," he hissed, pistoning forward, using his hold to pull Jack in to meet his thrusts, groaning as he did. The satin moved, tickled his thighs, and in the dark, Jack's face was thrust into shadows, the hollow beneath his cheekbones, the fine lines of his face; framed by the dark hair. And still, he knew, he felt that he was fucking a man, perhaps even an equal, and so his one hand slipped inside, unseen under the skirt, to grab a hold of Jack's prick.

Sparrow groaned deep from his gut and pushed down against James, as they fumbled for a rhythm, finally discovering that if James steadied him with one hand under his backside, he could use his thigh muscles while James stroked him.

He was most vocal; moaning, sometimes crying out softly, curses and endearments dripping from his lips against James' shoulder. His legs tightened, the warring sensations driving him at breakneck pace until he gasped, "That's done it!" and spilled himself over the teasing fingers, still impaled and moving restlessly.

Where he was loud, James was silent, there were no more words, no curses, only harsh gasps when he could not contain them, then a stifled sigh as he finished. The warmth on his palm reminded him that this was no woman, but still he carefully set Jack down, wordlessly straightening the skirt.

Jack held on for a moment, stumbling the half-step back to the wall and pressing both palms against it to steady himself. His face was dusky, eyes clouded and half-hidden under his lashes. In that moment, he completely agreed with everyone: he was mad. He was absolutely insane to even have thought this, much less done it. He looked up warily, still panting.

James was a strange mirror-image, standing there, tall, straight; his chest heaving, but his gaze was confused, as if now that desire and hunger had faded, he could not quite understand what had driven him to this wild frenzy. Not as much regret as lack of understanding. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

Jack had one of his more inspired moments in the next seconds. He laughed softly, his legs wobbling and the wetness between them sliding like syrup down his thigh. Then he surged forward and pulled James into another kiss, backing him once more to the bed.

"I could get used t'bein' married." He pushed Norrington down and tossed himself into the silken coverlet.

James stared wide-eyed at him. Closed his eyes, but no, the weight next to him definitely still was Jack Sparrow. Only that obviously his madness was in fact a contagious disease.

He laughed softly. "But I am not certain whether I could get used to you being at sea for so long." There, joke as if it had never happened, that was how intimacy with a man was handled.

Jack giggled, picked up one of the glasses and drained it. He felt dizzier than just before he fainted, without the nausea and sweating. "Tell 'em Mariella needs a bath in the mornin'." He curled up against James in a flurry of crimson satin and hoped he would fall asleep before his head spun into space. "Such a lov'ly husband."

James lay there, still, with wide, shocked eyes. Surely, Jack could not mean to... "I do believe it is not quite as cold here, and the bed is larger, too."

It didn't help. The pirate had curled against his shoulder, snoring loudly already, the smell of rum drifting into James' nose with each breath. It was a heady smell, as heady as his lust before but only a meagre excuse for it. Why could Sparrow not retreat to his side of the bed and pretend nothing had happened? That was how such a situation ought to be addressed, after all.

He nudged against the sleeping form, but Sparrow only muttered something and curled even closer. Bloody hell.

Held still in one place, with little chance to move if he did not want pirate hands everywhere again, he could only stay awake to glare at the ceiling for so long. Eventually, his soft snores joined Jack's.

  
[Act Three](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113230.html)

NOTES: We are going to hell, but Jack did remember Katarina's lines. We hope Skakespeare laughed at him.


	3. FIC: Merely Players 3/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy couple endures lingering pain and quickening woes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
artistic  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Mozart-Oboe Concerto in C  
**Entry tags:** |  [fiction](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/tag/fiction)  
  
_**FIC: Merely Players 3/5**_  
AUTHORS: [](http://elessil.livejournal.com/profile)[**elessil**](http://elessil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/profile)[**hippediva**](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/)  
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns them. We plunder  
RATING: PG through NC17  
PAIRING: Sparrington  
WARNINGS: masks and secrets and extreme insanity

SUMMARY: The happy couple endures lingering pain and quickening woes.

In honour of Carnivale, we offer a masquerade. The story is complete and we will post each chapter daily.

Previously: [Act One](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/112721.html#cutid1), [Act Two](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113065.html#cutid1)

  
Jack woke because his stomach hurt. It more than hurt; it was perilously balanced between outright revolt and grinding pain that could almost compare to the way his head was aching. He groaned and rolled over, regretting the movement, swallowed thickly and dragged himself to his feet. His head pounded miserably and he managed to get the satin off before running to the French doors, hauling them open and making it to the rail.

His hair was wordlessly pulled back, and a blanket draped over his shoulders, barely covered by the chemise. "Morning sickness?" It could have sounded mocking, but there was a strange hint of sympathy to it.

Jack retched again, by way of an answer. He continued, loudly, until his stomach was empty and even then continued until he gulped in a breath of air and sagged under Norrington's hands. "Oh. My. God!" he moaned, gulping back more sour saliva. "I'm dyin'."

"No, you are not, you are hungover. Little wonder after what you drank yesterday." James pulled him to his feet, righting him against the balustrade to fetch a glass of water, refined with a splash of rum. He had seen more than one drunk man in his time, and he still remembered the helpful morning tortures among midshipmen after a long shoreleave. He wiped Sparrow's lips with a wet towel, then pressed another to his forehead.

"Bury me at sea. I'm not gonna make it." Jack struggled with his stomach, his throbbing head and the stained chemise. "Thanks, mate." He held the cool towel to his forehead. "Get a priest. Get a minister. GET SOME RUM!"

James wisely held his laughter back, only grinned. "If you must shout, then behave yourself like a lady. Next time, I will leave the rum atop the cupboard." He lifted the glass with watered rum to Sparrow's lips. "There, easy now."

Jack sipped at the water, the rum tingling on his tongue. At least it washed away the taste of sour wine vomit. "Ohhhh." he moaned and sagged in James' grip. "Lemme lay down fer a bit. Else it's all gonna come back up again."

James was torn between amusement and pity, settling for pulling the blanket around him and rewetting the towel.

There was a knock on the door and James carefully covered Jack again, hid the decanter and hoped that the smell of vomit would be stronger than that of rum. He opened, dishevelled himself, but far more presentable.

"Señor? Señor, come esta Madame? She is mal, no?" The housekeeper, neat and proper in black, was attended by two maids.

She pushed her way into the room and sniffed, making for Jack immediately. "Pobrecita! Mija, let me help you!"

The maids quickly brought in a bucket and mop and had the balcony spotless in minutes. Señora was trying to get the soiled chemise off Jack who was ready to scream. "James, help?" He pointed to the wardrobe with a pained glance.

James swallowed all curses and went between them, kneeling at the bedside . He took Jack's hand, stroked it, then smiled sweetly at the housekeeper, trying to explain in Spanish how his wife was very modest and preferred not to accept any help, hinting that it only made her feel yet more helpless and miserable. That it would be best to give her the means to clean herself up and remove what she considered as a shame to herself and her husband.

It was difficult with a knowledge of the language that was focused most on general conversation, warfare and trade, but he supported it with smiles and urgent nods, and if he had no other choice, one or the other word in English.

Jack had gathered the coverlet around himself, part of him shrieking to stay hidden, listening to James with a heartfelt sigh of relief. He then proceeded to forestall more conversation by half-sitting, one hand pressed to his mouth. Both Señora and the Commodore held the basin for him. He choked and gasped and turned away, disgusted with himself and whatever blithering bastard had thought it a good idea to ferment grapes.

James held his hair back, then wiped his lips again, still stuttering in urgent Spanish to the housekeeper. He remembered Sparrow's words from yesterday and thought that perhaps, they could provide ample distraction. He asked if it was possible for his wife to bathe.

Señora watched them with a smile. "Si. Si, of course, Señor. Su mujer will be much happier." She rose and clapped her hands for the maids and all three abruptly disappeared to spread the tale of how loving the handsome actor was with his wife and how she must be a gentle creature to need such care! So unlike the usual run of mountebanks and whores who came to San Felipe.

As soon as they were out, James jumped to his feet, rummaged through the wardrobe until, with a sigh of relief, he found something that would pass as bathing gown. He tossed it at Sparrow and pulled the blanket away. "There, put that on before they are back."

Jack groaned and forced himself to sit up, wobbling. "Oh good God, I think I'm gonna expire." He took the gown and pulled off the sodden chemise, pitching it across the room. As soon as he was free of its stench, he felt better. He pulled on the bathing gown and blinked at James. "Don't tell me we got a rehearsal or I swear I'll kill ya."

"No rehearsal. A performance of the Lucrece in the evening," James muttered, picking up the chemise to soak it in the basin. It stank of vomit, of rum and semen, and he had no wish to have a maid start new gossip.

Jack groaned and weakly pushed the pot away from his face, huddling into the coverlet. "Perfect. Jus' what I was hopin'." He hitched the filmy gown around his shoulders and raised his head. "Shite, did she notice these?" He held up one twisted dreadlock. "Help me pin 'em up."

James did, clumsily taking the hairpins from the dressing table and tucking the dreadlocks under the remaining hair, not as skillfully as Fernando, but well enough. "Never again," he muttered to himself.

Jack sniffled and looked up at him appealingly. Odd, that he would remember the short formality that had condemned the pirate and sent him to the gallows. There had been no such plea then, only a stony stare and a cheeky grin. Now, he looked almost helpless.

"Never wot? Thanks." He twisted the few remaining locks under the rest of his hair and secured it with shaking fingers.

"Anything that could lead to me playing actor and worrying about hiding a pirate's prick."

Quickly, he lathered Sparrow's face and shaved him - not that there was much growth, but still, better that than to find a shadow of hair there later.

Jack submitted to it meekly, his face pale and wan under its tan. They would need Fernando and the powder very soon. He managed a weak smile. "Y'hid it jus' fine last night." His eyes were a little more alert, but it was obvious he was still in pain. "Wot manner of devilment ya think they'll do t'me?"

His question was answered in the next moment when a knock was followed by two footmen carrying a steaming tub, along with both maids and the housekeeper.

"Va, Señora. Come, we make you feel better." She helped Jack to his feet, imperiously pushing James away and settling the ailing 'actress' into the hot bath.

James approached the bath and again tried his best smile, attempting to explain how this was not necessary, that surely she had different duties to attend to, that he was used to attending his wife himself and would gladly do so.

Señora raised a stern face from where she was gently pushing sweet-scented soap into 'Mariella's' fingers. "You go and get food. We will help her. Pobrecita!" She shooed him away and he found himself outside the door, terrified as to what might happen behind it.

Jack listened to everything in a haze of pain, his head throbbing as cannonfire banged through his temples. Fortunately, his survival instincts were drink-proof. He hunched forward to hide the distinct lack of bosom and took the soap gratefully. "Gracias, Señora. Lo siento, Dios mio."

As he expected, she shushed him and the maids quickly scented the room with cologne and chattered while he managed to get the lower half of his face washed, wondering if soap tasted any better than his mouth.

James nervously prowled in front of the room, waiting for any shriek that would announce the discovery of Mariella's rather less womanly anatomy. Once, a maid came out to bow and smile at him, assuring him that there was no necessity for him to be worried about his good wife, that she was in excellent hands. How to explain he was worried about exactly that?

Jack's head throbbed a little less violently and he wanted to throw all three of them over the balcony and just lay back, enjoying the hot water, but restrained that regrettable impulse. He almost shrieked when Señora unpinned his hair, clucking at the woolly dreadlocks but making no comment except to curse the nasty miser of an owner who forced any woman to ruin such lovely hair to save a few pesos.

James spun around when there were further noises from the staircase. No maid this time, but the fine Commandante. He stifled another curse, smiled and bowed stiffly. "Good morning, Sir."

The stiff uniform seemed to bow by itself. "Señor. Your wife, she is well? I had heard she was ill." His posture was fearsomely straight and tall, hand on his swordhilt, chin high.

James stared back coolly, then smiled again, barely. "Not ill, Sir, not if you do not call a child an illness. Yet, she is feeling unwell. I fear the past day has exhausted her."

Don Jaime drew himself up to his full height, eye level with James. "A brave woman! And such trials they suffer."

The door opened and the maids scurried out, carrying away the chamber pot, the soiled chemise and giggling.

Señora followed, bowing to James and the Commandante. "Senores. Your wife is resting, sir. She begged me to leave her to her prayers. You should thank Heaven for such a jewel. She thinks only of the child."

Jack waited until they left and yanked up the soggy cambric to wash his prick and the stickier areas behind it, cussing under his breath. He made short work it and lounged in the tub, the dress pulled up to his chest, both legs dangling, feeling much better than he had upon waking.

He never knew that not having tits could be such a bother.

Outside, James smiled sweetly and nodded his thanks. "Gracias, Señora. As you will certainly understand, I am most worried about her, even more so in this condition. I will see to her now, if you will excuse me, Commandante?"

There was a female shriek below the stairs and both men poked their heads over the railing to see one of the maids run through the hall being chased by a footman. The Commandante arched one aristocratic brow. "Of course, sir. Your servant."

Jack got out of the bath to get the rum and found a bundle of good cigars on the nightstand. Dripping water on the carpet, the thin linen clinging to him, he lit one, grabbed the rum and settled himself back in the tub for a nice, long soak.

James peered down, heard another shriek and stifled a curse. Certainly, Sparrow would be able to manage a few minutes on his own. James was not a nursemaid, after all. He bowed and rushed down the staircase, gauging the situation and attempting to separate the eager footman from his unwilling victim.

Don Jaime smirked. It seemed the fine actor thought himself a hero not only on stage. All the better. The housekeeper had disappeared, and he had not reached his position by being faint of heart when he wanted something, so he opened the door and walked into the room.

"Madame? Are you well?"

Jack choked out a lungful of smoke and shoved the cigar into the water. "James? Darling, please! I just want to rest."

He frantically scrabbled with the soaked gown, pulling one of the towels in with him and pouting over the loss of a good smoke. He slugged back as much rum as he could and hid the bottle next to the tub.

"Your husband is otherwise occupied." Don Jaime's eyes hungrily studied the tub, imagining what the white linens hid. "I merely wished to convince myself of your well-being. I heard you had a horrible night."

Jack's eyes went wide and he turned an interesting shade of tawny red. "Commandante! Sir, what is the meaning of this. I'm alone here and..."

He looked down at the water and watched the cigar float like a turd next to his hip. He sat on it and yanked the wet towel up to his chin, pulling his hair forward. "I'm not in the habit of entertaining gentlemen in the bath, sir. You have me at a cruel disadvantage!"

"Madame, I beg you not to see it as a disadvantage, much less a cruel one." He took several steps forward, until he stood between the bathtub and the bed. "It is difficult enough to see you once without your husband present." He smiled, but it was rather like a panther readying to pounce.

Jack stared up at him in real horror. How was he to get out of the tub, not reveal a lot of skin that most women did not possess and still keep the Spaniard on the hook, just to tease Norrington? His brain skipped a beat or two and he looked up at the hard, handsome face.

"My husband is brand new and understandably anxious." He laughed into his hand and grimaced at the blast of tobacco and rum on his own breath. "But I grow chill, Don Jaime, and so has the water. Pray, give me leave to dress and greet you properly." His hair was a rat's nest, he was dripping wet, stinking of cigar and soap. That should have been enough to put off any man.

"But of course, Madame. Forgive me for forgetting my manners." The Commandante was stubborn and did not leave, but simply turned around to allow her to step out of the water, imagining it dripping down slim thighs with a sly grin.

Jack slid behind the dressing screen, stepped on the soap and nearly fell. He clung to the screen, quivering and peered over the top. Damn, the man was persistent. He yanked off the dripping gown and looked around for something else to wear, finding nothing. Oh bugger!

"Commandante, could I beg a favour? My gown is, I believe on the bed. I do not have the luxury of a proper maid. Could you hand it to me?" 'Mariella's' voice was sugar sweet.

"Certainly, Madame." A few moments, the rustle of fabric and the gown appeared behind the dressing screen, but the Spaniard edged closer and closer, and would not let go of the dress. "Would you like...assistance?"

"Oh sir, dear me, no! I'm in no fit state!" Damned right I ain't. My prick's hanging lose, the damned gown's open in front and I don't have another shimmy! Jack glared heavenward. "Y'know, I bloody hate You!" he muttered.

He slung on the gown, holding it closed and almost walked right into Don Jaime, who had been straining for a peek through the screen. "Naughty man!" He giggled and grinned, watched the damned cigar pop to the surface of the water and tossed the towel on top of it. Where the bloody hell was his loving 'husband'?

"I am so glad of your concern, sir. " He offered one hand, pulling the lace down over the bronzed wrist and the tattoo.

Don Jaime took it, bent to kiss it and was just about to yank 'Mariella' closer when the door opened again to admit James, who quickly hid his shock with a polite nod. "Mariella. Commandante."

"Oh darling, I was wondering where you had disappeared. Don Jaime has been good enough to look after me." Jack bridled and winked at the Spaniard, gliding towards the bed and gathering the red material around himself. "Don Jaime, where in Spain is your home? I thought the Governor said Seville?"

He eyed the cigars and the Commandante's hungry gaze and hid his grin with a silvery laugh. His hangover was quite gone, thanks to the rum and he was more than ready for a few fireworks.

"The good Governor is a wise man. I certainly hope that your troupe will find its way there one day. If you do, allow me to offer my hospitality, and I would be most disappointed if you did not accept it." The Commandante's hand brushed Jack's waist in passing, as if by coincidence.

James cursed under his breath and edged between the two, still smiling as though he had noticed nothing. "My wife, are you well? I was so worried about you."

"Dearest, I'm perfectly well now. And quite refreshed although, "Jack leaned close enough to whisper, "Ain't got a shimmy on! Find one!"

He leaned over and plucked out one of the cigars. "I wonder, sir, are these as good as those rolled in Seville? I should so love to see the city with you." He rolled it between his fingers, stroking obscenely and raised it to his lips. The Spaniard's eyes widened, then grew hot. Oho! So the Commandante liked 'em fast an' feisty. He waited for one of the gentlemen to strike a flint.

James decided to go looking for underwear. "Dear, should you really smoke in your delicate condition?" Disapproval was edged in his tone, but the Commandante already lit it.

"Sir, you should cherish your wife and her state; reading every wish from her lips."

Jack sucked in smoke and let it drift in lazy currents from his lips. "Excellent. And alas, I should not. It's a terrible habit, is it not, Don Jaime?" His dark eyes were as seductive as a cat's and he took another puff before handing the cigar to the Commandante. "James, my love, my own. Have you found those items yet? Don Jaime, I'm overcome by your kindness."

"It is naught but what you deserve." Don Jaime was glaring at James who glared back, both their lips curled into the most pleasant smiles.

Then James turned. "No, Mariella, I have not. I shall do so at once. Commandante, if you forgive me." He went behind the dressing screen, sifting through the wardrobe for another shift.

"Don Jaime, you must forgive me, I really should make myself presentable." Jack laughed softly as the Commandante held the cigar at his lips, trying very hard to get a look down past the lace collar. He puffed out the smoke and tapped him on the wrist. "Very naughty. My husband will be furious!" he murmured in a quite audible stage whisper.

Oh, yes, he will be. James was fit to strangle Jack right then and there, but he gave no sign that he had heard at all, keeping himself in the background.

Don Jaime kissed 'her' hand again, winking. "Of course. Forgive the interruption. Perhaps you can spare me a moment... later?"

"Any number of them to so kind a gentleman. A bientot." Jack winked back and watched James' eyes almost cross with fury as the door closed. "God, I thought I was gonna die! Where were ya?"

"I prevented a maid from being used as the whore you present yourself as!" James snarled, then tossed a chemise on the bed. "There, _dearest_. Dress yourself, or do you need the good Commandante's assistance for that?"

"I was tryin' t'keep him distracted an' me bits covered!" Jack retorted, pulling off the gown and struggling to get the chemise over his head. "Y'know, you two are well on yer way to a duel. That'll be a new one!" He reluctantly trudged over to retrieve the corset. "I'm startin' t'hate this thing."

"And I already hate this situation." James helped him with the corset, pulling it tight once before relenting and lacing it loosely. "Do you believe I am blind? If you want to parade yourself as a woman, perhaps I should make you one."

Jack backed away at the last words. "No thanks awfully, but I'm rather fond of me ballocks as they are! Why're you bein' so damned dreadful? I did th'best I could!"

He was pouting and moaned as the laces drew too tight, then breathed a sigh of relief when James loosened them. "Mate, it'll keep him off his guard. Besides, wot else was I t'do? I couldn't exactly discuss coastal currents wif him!"

"No, but perhaps a little less flirting would have lessened his interest, and to promise him 'any number of moments' perhaps is _not_ the wisest path to ward off his advances. Do you think you could have kept your cover for much longer if I hadn't arrived?"

"I can always bash him over th' head with something." Jack's eyes danced, then went soft. "Don't be so damned angry. Jesus, ya think I knew wot t'do when he came in here an' I'm in the bleedin' tub? Not exactly like I can challenge him, eh?" He was a little too close. "Besides, I don't like him one bit." He lips curved into a maddening smile.

For God's sake, was Sparrow now flirting with him as well? Bad enough that he had let himself get carried away the night before. "I fail to see how that last cigar and your 'whisper' had anything to do with your being in the tub. If you flaunt yourself like that in front of your husband, he cannot but think you a whore open to his advances."

"James, you ever had a mistress?" Jack was busy, pulling on the worn velvet gown. His fingers toyed with the tarnished braid at the neckline.

"I fail to see how that concerns you or this situation at all." James used mirror and fresh basin to groom himself, itching to shave when he knew he shouldn't.

"Haven't y'ever watched how women manage us? They flirt an' tease an' keep us all guessin'. Not a bad diversion, t'be honest." Jack stretched as much as he could and went to retrieve the decanter by the tub. "Here, have a drink an' try t'relax. After all, I'm only really here for you, luv."

"It is barely past nine. I certainly will not drink now. And I would rather you behaved yourself more chastely." James groaned and scratched at the beard. "Oh, and Fernando will be here in a moment to take care of your hair and face."

Jack shrugged, wishing James would at least look at him. He slid the high-heeled shoes on and crept behind Norrington, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Chaste it is then? Y'think they've got a nun's habit in the trunks?"

James rolled his eyes. "You know very well what I mean."

Jack reached to touch his cheek, biting his lip. "If it gets me close to 'em, wot's the harm? Not like I'm gonna take either of 'em off fer a shag." James remained obdurate and Jack tried his sweetest, most wheedling tone. "Please? I can't keep my wits about me if yer gonna be angry all day." His eyes were velvet soft. "An' thank you fer takin' care of me this morn. Felt like th' bloody devil."

"You _are_ the bloody devil, sent to torment me for my sins and tempt me to more, such as buggery and _murder_." James glared. "And what if they interpret your flirting so far that they are taking you off for a shag? Have you thought about that?"

Jack laughed softly. "Mate, d'ya really think anyone could force me? An' me so fearsome a brigand? Come now, James! I know our lives are at stake. An' tis better t'keep 'em close. That way ya know wot they're up to."

He leaned closer. "Course, I might not fight so hard, dependin' on who's doin' the 'carryin' off'." His smile was irrepressible as he sat down at the dressing table and brushed out his hair, wiping away the smeared kohl and rouge.

"Both our lives are at stake if they realise you are a man. Which is rather difficult to miss....from a closer point of view." James coughed and turned away, resolutely not watching how those lips were red and slightly swollen even without the paint.

"James?" Jack's voice was soft.

When he turned back, Jack wound both arms around his neck. "I know." He grinned and for the first time, James realised he had a dimple lingering around the right corner of his mouth, like a hidden kiss.

James' eyes snapped closed and he sighed softly before he pulled away. "If you know, why act like this?"

Jack kissed him. "Because it's a lark. Just because we've both got ourselves into a jam and have t'use our brains to get out of it don't mean it can't be fun." He traced one finger alone the scruffy line of beard on Norrington's jaw. "I like it. Suits you."

James knew the thrill of danger, knew it very well. After all, it was why he had chosen the life he lived. "But to seek additional danger for no reason as all is foolish." He chuckled softly. "It is dreadful and it itches. I don't know how you could bear yours."

Jack drew him down onto the tufted stool in front of the dressing table and perched on his lap. "Pure vanity! Clearly, you've never been on a pirate ship, mate. No one takes a word y'say seriously until you've a scrap o'whisker. Musta taken me three-four years to grow it. I'm heartbroke."

He could not have behaved less heartbroken, and Fernando threw open the door to stare at the 'happy couple', Mariella cooing on her husband's knee.

He coughed, then clapped his hands in delight. "Such a sweet pair." He came closer. "Very convincing, I must say. Mariella, I am heartbroken. Watch out, for he is a rogue." He pushed James out of the way and worked on Jack's hair. "Now let me. Dear God, what have you done to my creation?"

"Tried t'sleep," Jack muttered, still watching James in the mirror. "An' don't stick the damned pins inta me skull! Listen, mate. We've a bit of a problem." He pushed Fernando's hands away to fix his eyes, then sat demurely and let him pin the curling black mane into shape again.

"A problem? And that with you so high in the Governor's _and_ the Commandante's favour, and so _devout_ a husband? That is most difficult to believe." Fernando cheerfully arranged the hair into neat order, hiding the dreadlocks once more, then powdered Jack's face so heavily that there was a cloud of it.

"Yea, well, the problem is---stop shoving it up me nose--I'm fighting both of 'em off at ev'ry turn. It's bound t'get a bit dangerous. Dammit, don't pull!" He gritted his teeth as Fernando pasted the beauty mark right next to that dimple, caught James' eyes, watching in the mirror and closed his own, the lashes feathery.

"Oh, so I made you too pretty? Irresistible, so to speak?" Fernando winked at James, who promptly coloured a little. "Mariella had a certain...reputation. I fear that is what is expected of an actress as pretty as you."

"I rather suspected it." Jack pulled two long curls over his shoulder and considered the effect. The velvet beauty mark drew the eye to his mouth and it was certainly a pretty pair of lips, now rouged and seeming fuller and softer than they had yesterday.

Fernando missed nothing as Jack fussed with the rest of his toilette, then rose majestically, stalked to the freshened chamber pot and hitched his skirts up to take a piss.

"Oh, don't start wif me. A man's gotta pizzle if he must!"

Fernando broke into outright laughter. "You are spoiling the effect! I was so proud of myself! Cheri, watch out. We are in Nueva España. Only worse are the French. It seems each spouse here is lonely because the other betrays them. Not that the Commandante's wife was not most generous..." He winked and giggled at James' startled huff.

"Where is she? Gossipin' with her gaggle? And the Guv'nor's a widower is he not?" Jack finished and gave his prick a shake, stepping back to let the skirt fall and the illusion covered him once more. "Don't you go makin' me poor luv here nervous. Or, " Mariella's eyes were quite suddenly dangerous, the same eyes that could look over a smoking deck or assess a prize with ease. "I might have t'take exception to this whole bloody charade."

Fernando laughed. "And he such a charming rogue! I wager he could pick his choice between the fine young widows and not-so-fine wives."

James glared.

Fernando shrugged. "Then send them over to me, I shall be glad to comfort them."

James sputtered and Fernando clapped his shoulder. "Of course, I forgot. The good faithful husband."

Sparrow would normally have laughed heartily, but something in James' face made him stop, smiling. "He's as good a rogue as ever lived, mate. And a damn brave one." Jack pointed at Fernando, an unconscious imitation of AnaMaria. "Don't you forget it. Now, wot has dear Solomon planned fer us t'day?"

Fernando giggled. "As our fine lead actress is in such a delicate state, rehearsal shan't take place. But the performance in the eve cannot be cancelled, and we all rely on our violated Lucrece and her Tarquin for a most fine performance."

At 'delicate state' James' gaze got darker and he spoke for the first time since Fernando had entered. "Fernando, I warn you. If you invent any additional tales about my marital 'prowess', your own shall be in significant danger."

Jack kept his mouth shut. The way Fernando's eyes were lit up, he was quite sure they had been heard whilst prowling in the halls, as it were. He even coloured a bit and caught sight of himself in the mirror, shook his head and went to light another cigar.

Fernando took it from his fingers and cheerfully puffed clouds of smoke. "Really, smoking does not become a lady at all. My, the stench alone!" He cheerfully drew more puffs, the first to completely and utterly ignore James Norrington's eyes narrowing dangerously in a very, very long time.

"Dammit, that's the third one this mornin'! Can't a bloke get a smoke without someone pinchin' it or making him have t'stow it in the bath." Jack walked to James and laid a hand on his arm. "James. Jamie, fun. Remember?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

Fernando clapped his hands again. "Why yes, we are showing a comedy this night! A lot of fun to be found." He peered between the two, swallowed hard and bowed. "Exeunt." He disappeared through the door.

Jack looked up at Norrington's face, white and strained and angry, sparks of amber flaring in the green eyes, his wide mouth set in a thin line. "C'mon, luv. He's gone. You mus' be gettin' hungry. Shall we see wot's available fer breakfast?"

James looked down, breathed deeply and composed himself. Impatience would not serve, nor would anger. Control. He stood and offered his arm. "We shall, dearest wife."

Jack took his arm, stopped and pulled him into another swift kiss. "You, my husband, are a fine man." He took a deep breath, smoothed his skirts and nodded. "Let's eat. I'm starvin'."

[Act Four](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113661.html)


	4. FIC: Merely Players 4/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger stalks the boards and the dancefloor as the newlyweds discover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Allemande is a 3/4 time dance that evolved into the waltz. Evidently on San Felipe. Again, we are responsible for the troupe's melodramatic Lucrece. Apologies all round.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
artistic  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Rameau ---Dardanus Suite  
**Entry tags:** |  [fiction](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/tag/fiction)  
  
_**FIC: Merely Players 4/5**_  
AUTHORS: [](http://elessil.livejournal.com/profile)[**elessil**](http://elessil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/profile)[**hippediva**](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/)  
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns them. We plunder  
RATING: PG through NC17  
PAIRING: Sparrington  
WARNINGS: masks and secrets and extreme insanity

SUMMARY: Danger stalks the boards and the dancefloor as the newlyweds discover.

In honour of Carnivale, we offer a masquerade. The story is complete and we will post each chapter daily.

Previously: [Act One](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/112721.html#cutid1), [Act Two](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113065.html#cutid1), [Act Three](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113230.html#cutid1)

  


  
" What beast is it that looms in men, that stirs what we should not desire,  
That breeds longing, heat and lust,  
Dark fire, scathing, death, where only fair virtue should reside.  
What urge is this, to taint this chastest white,  
Where virtue only tempts to vice?"

James stopped for a moment, looked up to see the audience. He had not before, focused only on himself, on remembering the text, and trying to ignore that Thompson sat out there. He had spotted him, right there in the separated part with the Governor and the Commandante, watching with delight. No pointing, no shouting, no guards. The guise as Tarquin obviously was safe, at least for the moment, if only he did not falter.

"Thy way, so bright and fair, lauded by the best of men,  
Cheered, rewarded in contest where virtue should not strive,  
Where reward received your spouse, not thou.  
What thou gain'st was my gaze on thine,  
Which chastely thou didst bow. And fie!  
Foul demon in my heart that makes me long,  
Long to hold, to embrace where it is not mine.  
Yet, temptation all the greater,  
The thought of thy white breasts, chaste until my hands do touch."

Certainly, Jack had little of chastity about him, the opposite of Lucrece, but forbidden all the same. And like Tarquin, James had given in to temptation, not against Jack's will, but against the law of God and man. Like Tarquin, he was driven into a mad frenzy, where his thoughts would not yield, where he could not forget the hot fingers, their frenzied coupling, where each of Jack's casual touches only seemed to beg for it again.

What was worse, to be incensed by virtue or by depravity? Better for sure to take in consent, but to give his own agreement? To sink so low to be ruled by bodily desires? Was that not the lesson of Tarquin?

"So be it then, let there be fire.  
Burning brighter and stronger far than ice.  
She shall be mine, and gone my honour in the wind,  
Let hers be mine instead."

He spun around on his heel and rushed off the stage, the cheer of the audience ringing in his ears, wondering if Thompson's voice was among them, or if already he was alerting the guards.

Jack had been half-listening backstage, a smile on his lips as he looked over his lines and Fernando fussed over his 'provocative' night-dress costume for the rape scene. He didn't grin at James, only watched him with enigmatic eyes, as if he had heard every thought that accompanied Tarquin's impassioned speech.

"How could any gel resist?" he teased gently. "He's out there, ain't he?"

"He is. With the Governor and the Commandante." James looked dark, serious, as if convinced he was walking to his execution and still determined to keep his dignity.

Fernando clucked his tongue. "Now, now, my dears, the next scene is yours together anyway, so get yourself out there, Mariella. Shoo, shoo!"

Jack own long hair had been augmented by what had to have been the heads of two healthy Spanish girls and it tumbled past his waist in midnight clouds. "Don't worry!" He raced onstage, trying not to get lost in all those curls and cursing a blue streak under his breath. The back of his neck was sticky with sweat.

The rape was terrifying and James' carefully controlled fear had given way to febrile intensity as he stalked his Lucrece, heedless of her piteous pleas and tears. Jack lost himself in the lines and the scene flew, the audience on its feet when the curtain closed.

Almost dazed, he looked up at James curiously. Norrington was watching him with the strangest expression, as if he'd almost forgotten it was all make-believe. Jack understood entirely and shook off the spell while Fernando fussed and got him into the torn duplicate costume, handed him the dagger and pushed him into the wings. Jack hefted the knife. Not a bad blade for all that it was too dull to cut anything but butter. He waited for his cue, his breath coming in short gasps, feeling much as he did in the middle of a battle, waiting for the next shot, the next blow.

"Can Juno herself not weep with pity,  
To see how foully my name is used!  
Once praised and lauded, chief among her handmaids,  
My will and my life bound to my lord's kind touch.  
Will not the Furies beat back such cruel force  
And hunt the hunter who has killed such prey?  
No leman I, nor cowering slave to tread through dusty days  
Until age shall paint my cheeks with chalk  
And warbling tones send me to my grave.  
Here and now, I choose my fate,  
To live without honour that would be a death indeed."

Offstage, Jack thought Lucrece a complete ass but somehow, the words rang truer with those hundreds of eyes watching and suffering with her. One hand reached towards her audience; fixed eyes, dark as night and lit from within from places Jack never knew he possessed.

"Forgive that I should have, by mere existence,  
Stained that bright shield of my married love,  
My father's pride and joy all trodden to the dust.  
Let now chill death himself comfort this heart,  
Sore broke and longing only to cease to beat.  
I cannot live or walk, talk or feel a touch,  
But his hands defile and ravish once again.  
No joy will I feel. No pain shall I suffer.  
In cold emptiness, may I find my solace  
And lay to rest so grievous a sin."

Unlike their first impromptu performance, Solomon had added much in costumes and props. Jack only barely remembered the small bladders of pig's blood hidden under the torn chemise as he withdrew the dagger and held it high.

"Gods may forgive, but never men,  
And stains so foul can ne'er be washed except by blood.  
My own I offer, oh faint my heart and give me strength.  
For thee, for honour and for shame.  
Be stern my hand, as his was who tore my life in twain.  
Forgive my weakness and end my pain."

There was a collective gasp as Lucrece stabbed herself and the white gown ran red all around when she sank to the floor. Jack's only thought was that it was cold and sticky.

All defense was useless and the crowd cheered as the wronged husband sought revenge, as Tarquin sank to the stage, his blood as red as Lucrece's. More cheers, and James thought they would cheer as much if they knew who he was, if the attacker were a guard and the blood his own. It wasn't, instead the curtains drew closed under roaring applause.

They were shoved forward for bow after bow, both dripping like a butcher's shop and both bemused, their eyes meeting in confusion. Jack was pelted with flowers and it was a testament to how absorbed he'd been that he did not notice quite all the silver coins tossed on the stage,

Backstage, after the din of the applause, Jack let Fernando get him out of his costume and back into Mariella's frock, his eyes distant and confused. What in bloody hell had happened out there? He'd completely forgotten where he was, so completely had he been involved in that Roman cow's drama.

He was unusually quiet as Fernando and Zelina cleaned away the splashes of blood on his arms and face, redressing his hair and repowdering his face. He looked up in the mirror and saw James' eyes, dark with their own distress. He blinked. Idiotic playacting! There were more important acts ahead and he took a deep breath.

"James? C'mon luv. It ain't gonna get any better waitin' fer it."

There was something of Lucrece's struggle in the way he squared his shoulders, ready to go and face whatever might come.

James had to wipe away the blood himself and stood fully dressed in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection. Would Thompson recognise him? Who would he see, Tarquin or James Norrington? No wig, the shadow of a beard, would that suffice as a disguise? He was about to find out, and there was no point in stalling.

If he waited for the other ship to fire before he did, a fight was as good as lost. He straightened himself and held out his arm. "Then let us meet the adoring public, wife."

Jack smiled and took it, biting his lip to feel how it quivered under the gaudy cuffs. He grinned. "Let's let 'em have it, husband."

He had his wits about him, more or less, and immediately took in Thompson, tall and straight. He nearly whistled. The man could almost have passed for Norrington's brother. He was handsome and dressed in the sober garments of a simple merchant.

Then they were whisked off in a carriage, this time to the Commandante's grand villa for yet another reception. There was no time to do more than press James' hand reassuringly, between forced laughter and inane chatter until they were ushered into the hall.

Fernando winked at them as they passed and Solomon positively beamed, then shooed them onwards to their kind host. Needless to say, the good Commandante was already leering at Mariella, rushing forward to greet her, then to introduce Thompson to her.

As James was presented and bowed, he could see the man grow contemplative. Not alarmed, no call for guards, but a line on his brow. "Greetings, Mr.... Jefferson? Have we had the pleasure before?"

James tensed but continued the performance and smiled, using the bare inch he had on Thompson to airily look down at him.

"Indeed, Sir. Our troupe has been in many a port, and perhaps you have previously witnessed one of our tours?"

"Possibly. I enjoy the theatre. Although I do believe that I would remember your charming wife."

Jack listened with ears sharpened to their conversation and laughed softly. "Mr. Jefferson was the toast of Europe before he came here. I'm delighted to meet you, sir."

His eyes danced as he held out his hand and his smile was sweet, but there was something in Mariella that had been nonexistent in her earlier, a kind of dignity that surprised Jack more than anyone. He wavered between the smouldering glances of Don Jaime and the Governor's longing, to Thompson's veiled curiosity.

He pulled himself together with his most winning smile. "Now which of you lovely gentlemen shall take me in to dinner? My my, the choices a woman must make!" He took the Governor's arm, almost alarmed at his red-faced pleasure. Dear God, don't let th' bastard die of apoplexy on me!

The moment James' arm was free of his wife, he was surrounded by a cluster of females, until a resolute lady grabbed his arm and nigh dragged him off. Politely, he followed, glad to remove himself from Thompson at least for a while. As they walked in, he only hoped that the good Governor would not stumble over Mariella's skirt, so close did he press as they were walking.

Dinner was more of a performance than the play itself. James was alternating between the airy, arrogant artist, the gentleman with the infallible manners and the jealous husband while trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

This he did mostly by keeping close to Jack, alert for whatever he might say or do. The other guests might pretend to listen, but their attention was occupied by the enigmatic smiles and winks, sparing her husband only a jealous stare. Envy, hate perhaps, but not for the reason he feared.

Jack teased the Governor about the lavish hospitality of San Felipe, shot dark, enticing glances at Don Jaime and chattered with Thompson about the West Indies, the weather and such a multitude of ships!

Mariella was in fine form, bewitching her admirers and sparing looks and talk with all, bestowing her favours like a queen with an avid court, always keeping one eye on James and, noticing how Thompson watched him, kept up a lively stream of conversation on a dozen subjects.

It was exhausting and Jack wondered how in hell women managed to do all of this, look pretty and not reach for the nearest belaying pin. He was going to be black and blue from the Governor's untoward pinches under the tablecloth and made a note to keep clear of Don Jaime alone. The Spaniard looked more fearsome than any Tarquin and Jack swallowed hard. It was impossible to eat. His jaws were far too busy with talk until even he, who never lacked for words, was ready to embrace monastic silence. At least for an hour.

Norrington carried himself like a true gentleman, conversing with the gaggle of hens around him with gentle propriety. For the first time in his life, Jack was both envious of his easy politeness and touched by its quiet charm. Must be more t'that gentleman business than he'd imagined. For one moment, somewhere between a mango sorbet and the game course, Jack remembered the wall of that room in the Governor's mansion, his back pressed to it, straining against those long fingers. He turned pink to his hairline and covered the lapse with a laugh.

James would have wished for a cover on his ears to ward off the high-pitched giggles that sounded more like a shrieks, for at least two more pairs of hands with which he could delicately remove roaming palms from his thighs; and for an upbringing that would actually allow him to do so with women. He didn't. He sat there and suffered them stoically, smiling pleasantly and entertaining them.

He wished he had Jack's gift for this, for certainly, if this lasted much longer, he would surrender himself to the Spanish and damn the consequences. At least it would involve a fight. Against men. Not against the forward Spanish widow so enchanted with his beard.

Dinner finally ended and Jack sipped carefully at the wines this time, refusing a second glass of any and hoping that they would retire soon.

He was out of luck this night, as the Commandante was determined to woo Mariella and they moved to the salon, still chattering and laughing, until the musicians began to play and the floor cleared for dancing.

Jack considered faking a faint but had no time before he was led to the floor on the Governor's arm for a stately gavotte that would not irritate the gubernatorial knees.

Minuets and chacons continued until he found himself swept onto Don Jaime's arm.

Goddamn. The paso doble.

He looked at James pathetically, wracking his brain to remember the steps. But the moment the music began, he was all fire and fury. He'd spent more than his share of time in Malaga and knew how the gitanes did it well.

His chin rose, eyes challenging as the proper ladies and gentlemen pranced around each other in stiff postures. Suddenly, he clapped his hands sharply, the high heels clacking on the wooden floor. They circled each other, dangerous and darting, arms twining, Jack's hands moving like birds in flight.

James would have helped, had he known how, imprisoned by ladies' arms that were more insistent than they should be, and eyes that seemed to swoon at his impression of the fierce torero who was quite thoroughly sick of this reception already and only hoped that Thompson was, as everyone, busily watching Mariella.

The paso doble finished to the delight of everyone on the floor, crowding to compliment the Commandante and Mariella. Don Jaime's gaze grew so dark and predatory, the hold of his arms around Jack so low that, determined to be unobtrusive or no, he had to intervene.

"A marvelous dance, Commandante, darling. Dearest Mariella, may I? It has been a while since I had the pleasure at such a fine reception."

Jack's eyes were glittering and he was panting softly, as though he'd just gone several bouts with an expert swordsman. Dancing was much like swordplay and just as exhausting. Jack had seen never seen James in action but he had little doubt that the Commodore was more than proficient. He tossed his curls, glad to unpry the Commandante's fingers from his waist.

"Of course, my love. Commandante." Jack was hard-pressed to keep the bloodlust out of his gaze.

Jack stepped close to James, ready for another gavotte or some such boring thing but the musicians began an allemande. A very fast allemande. He looked up at the green eyes and a wicked spirit took hold of him. If he had to dance, then dammit, he was going to dance, not that proper shuffling and bowing. The freedom of the gitano paso doble burned and he faced James, twining one arm around his shoulders.

James stared down at him, already prepared to begin the dance, but Jack was not where he was supposed to be, and showed no inclination to moving to his side. _Oh bloody hell._ Very well then. He settled one hand on Jack's back, arm beneath the one on his shoulder, and danced. The tempo was ingrained in his blood from many a dancing lesson, from any number of allemandes he had danced. It was Elizabeth's favourite, he recalled, and he did not know how often he had tried it until he found his skills satisfactory to ask her for a dance.

With the next measure, he took a step forward, then spun around, twisting with Jack in his arms. The pirate was quick to react, to meet each of his steps, and he wondered what it would be like to face him in a duel of swords, where each step was countered with another, perfectly in tune until the world only spun and all that mattered was the movement, the bright steel of the sword, the polished wood of the dance floor.

Jack moved with him fluidly, step for step, measure for measure, whirling and twisting with the notes, letting James lead him. Within moments, they had synchronised to a perfect rhythm and he felt like he was flying, turning in tight circles, the skirts billowing around him as he spun. His eyes were locked to James', but this was no duel. It was a duet.

Neither of the two took notice of Thompson, his curious gaze the only one in the room that was trained on James rather than Mariella, the line on his brow deepening as he watched the tall, straight figure.

The music, the steps, the spinning dervish of their movements stopped as the last notes sounded and Jack panted heavily, his eyes wide. Was that why women so liked it? He'd never thought of it before, but with James holding him, it had been exhilarating. Dimly, he was aware of applause and whispers. Shocking, indeed, to dance held in a man's arms like the common folk. Jack didn't care. All he could see reflected in James' eyes was their shared danger and the memory of their passion, jerking and wrenched in a whirl of wine and rum against a wall.

He smiled shakily. "I think," he panted, "I've done myself for one night." His eyes said something quite different.

James could hear the ladies chattering, if perhaps so close a dance was the newest fashion in Europe, certainly, the far-travelled actors would know such a thing, heralds of the continent. The whispers were distant, as if through a haze, and it took a moment for him to remember propriety and disentangle himself, dizzy and breathless from the fast spinning. "Let us excuse ourselves and thank our host," he murmured.

Jack took the Commandante's hand and thanked him for his hospitality and his kindness in elaborate detail, but he never even heard the words crossing his lips. He was aware of the dark, desiring gaze but it bounced off him like droplets on oilcloth. He was still thrilling and humming when James closed the door of their room behind them.

He turned, eyes so dark they melted into the night and made a grab for Norrington's collar. "Kiss me!" he rasped.

James wasted no time to seize him by the waist, pulling him in for a furious kiss. It seemed the Commodore was caught by the same thrill; a moment, a shared danger, the mad exultation of braving it by skill and luck.

James' hands were yet more insistent than the Commandante's, hot, even through the layers of cloth, gripping hard into the soft satin of his dress, pulling him close to deepen the kiss, a heady frenzy of fear and lust.

Jack was bent, almost breaking in James' arms, his own fingers pulling at cravat and collar, stronger than they looked and just as insistent. Words kept bubbling into his brain, but his mouth was much too busy to voice them. The chant in his head became a chorale and he didn't care tuppence for the hand-me-down finery or their precarious position in such a place. He knew one thing only, desired one thing and he would be damned to the depths if he was going to let Spaniards, spies or society get in its way.

James' head thumped back against the door when first cold air and then hot breath found his throat and his curse drowned in a groan. His blood seemed to boil, everything just as dizzy as it had been after the dance, only with even less breath and more heat. He chuckled brokenly and backed Jack towards the bed. It was the easiest, fastest; exactly what he wanted now.

Jack stumbled back the few steps and yanked the damned skirts up, revealing golden legs, at such desperate contrast to the white-powdered face, encased in scarlet stockings and green garters, slender as any girls, but strong, the muscles tensed and quivering.

His eyes were half-mad. "Do it. Now. Don't stop." James could feel his heart pounding beneath satin and lace, under the corset and layers, as bare as if they lay on some beach, naked and without shame.

A push propelled him back on the bed and within a heartbeat, James was atop him, eyes dark and predatory, mouth open in a dangerous grin. He yanked the dress over Jack's head and tore at the corset's laces. "You will need your breath." His voice was so rough, it sounded like a threat, but the words were followed by breathless laughter.

Jack kicked and squirmed, helping and grinding against the bulge in James' breeches to equal degrees. The corset landed atop an urn displayed on a table, the gown abandoned at the foot of the bed, followed by the chemise. Jack had divested James of coat and waistcoat and worked at the buttons of his breeches frantically.

"Too many bloody clothes!" James' skin was silky, white and clean with a thousand baths, tender under his fingers and trembling. "Shhh...dressin' table...whatever. Sack the bloody lamp."

Utterly naked beneath him, James could have no doubt that Jack Sparrow was a man, hard flesh poking against his stomach, the hard muscles on the heaving chest. It didn't matter.

Clumsily, he fumbled with the lamp until the oil spilled, half caught in his palm, the rest dribbling on Jack's stomach, gleaming with every hitching breath, stopping for a moment when he grabbed the golden calves and heaved them atop his shoulders, the fabric of stockings strangely rough on his skin.

It didn't matter either, and his attention narrowed to where he pushed into Jack, trembling with every fibre not to simply thrust, hard and frenzied to sate his dangerous hunger.

Jack knifed himself upwards, his legs around James' neck, crooning encouragement, curses, any number of obscenities spilling from his lips when they weren't otherwise claimed.

He grinned up at James, his paste-whitened teeth bared. "Harder. C'mon, ya bastard, do it hard an' do it now." He couldn't remember being in such a dizzy frenzy and he didn't care. He was moaning and cursing loudly, his amber skin lit and flaming hot.

"Hush," James groaned against Jack's lips, seizing them into a kiss to enforce the order.

His back curved and the sweat collected at his hairline, dripping down with every rough thrust of his pistoning hips. Jack whined beneath him until he grabbed his prick, palming it frantically. It still wasn't enough, only stoked his need until his rhythm grew desperate, pushing hard and arrhythmically.

Somewhere between the pushing and pulling, the sweating and cursing, Jack felt as though he were back on that dance floor, spinning to giddy completion. His teeth were sharp against James' shoulder and he cried out, long and loud, his voice throbbing as much as his prick when he spilled out over the long fingers. He drifted, weightless, as James' moved, pushing him further and further until he felt the tall body stiffen and clung tight, his fingers tensing.

James shuddered atop him, eyes closed tight and face frozen for a moment before he sagged, panting heavily as Jack's legs slid from his shoulders and thumped to the mattress, loud amidst their harsh breathing.

Jack pushed the long chestnut hair away and smiled at him beatifically. There was something in his face that reminded James of a statue he'd seen of St. Theresa, shot through with the arrow of Christ. This had nothing to do with arrows unless they were they fleshly sort, and even less to do with Christ, but the look was sated, content and brimming with delight.

"Can we keep bein' married?" Jack's lips curved into one of their maddening smiles.

Another laugh, dark and warm and a little rough, then James hoisted himself off Jack to drop into the bed, sprawled on his back and attempting to gather his wits. "If you keep washing."

Jack laughed and sat up to peel off the stockings, tossing them carelessly. One landed on a statue of a Chin dragon and draped the creature's fearful jaws in scarlet jersey knit, the green garter like a cockeyed crown.

He curled up against James. "I can see why ye've conquered Jamaica, luv." He buried his face in the warm hollow of James' throat, ivory coated in salt sweat, sweet to taste. "I'll have to raid some port where they make fine soap."

James laughed softly. So much for the theory that the incident in the Governor's mansion had been an unfortunate misstep that would not happen again. Even without the lie, the pretense that Jack was a woman, his allure was just as strong, not something that he knew shipboard. The marks of teeth and nails, both on his skin and Jack's, stirred a strange possessive urge in him, and he shook his head to clear it.

"I did not bugger anyone to enforce England's claim on the island," he huffed indignantly.

"For England, James?" Jack rolled over to face him.

"Reminding me of my missteps may not be the wisest of ideas, pirate."

"Ah, but there is no shame in sayin' that you conquered this pirate most thoroughly," Jack grinned and James found himself wound in limbs the colour of rum and honey, claimed by lips that called themselves conquered and still kissed a challenge.

Jack's eyes fluttered closed and he could almost feel the roll of waves beneath them. "Let tomorrow worry 'bout itself. Tonight was perfect."

James was not quite so capable of pushing his worries away, but at least Thompson seemed not to have recognised him, and this was the closest he would have to be to the man. It seemed that their insane plan, for now, was safe. If Don Jaime did not unveil Jack.

With a frown, James drew the covers around them both so that no maid might chance over Mariella's conspicuous bits. Hoping that it would suffice, he tumbled into sated sleep.

[Act Five](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113751.html)

  
NOTES: An Allemande is a 3/4 time dance that evolved into the waltz. Evidently on San Felipe. Again, we are responsible for the troupe's melodramatic Lucrece. Apologies all round.


	5. Merely Players   5/5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The groom is duped, the bride strives to keep her virtue and the halls of Elsinore will never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are fiends and apologise to the Bard, James Bond, Bugs Bunny, Coupling and a host of others we have abused. *wink*

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current mood:** |   
amused  
---|---  
**Current music:** | Billie Holiday  
**Entry tags:** |  [fiction](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/tag/fiction)  
  
_**Merely Players 5/5**_  
AUTHORS: [](http://elessil.livejournal.com/profile)[**elessil**](http://elessil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/profile)[**hippediva**](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/)  
DISCLAIMER: The Rodent Empire owns them. We plunder  
RATING: PG through NC17  
PAIRING: Sparrington  
WARNINGS: masks and secrets and extreme insanity

SUMMARY: The groom is duped, the bride strives to keep her virtue and the halls of Elsinore will never be the same.

In honour of Carnivale, we offer a masquerade.

Previously: [Act One](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/112721.html#cutid1), [Act Two](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113065.html#cutid1), [Act Three](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113230.html#cutid1), [Act Four](http://hippediva.livejournal.com/113661.html)

Jack's eyes flew open precisely an hour and three-quarters after he'd dozed, spooned on his side with James draped over him, snoring softly. He wriggled his arse, stretched and rolled James over.

Norrington grunted and lay flat on his back, his snores getting louder. Jack decided it was time for round two and dove under the silken coverlet.

James flinched a bit, lashing out in his sleep and narrowly missing Jack, then his eyes flew open with a start. "What are you -"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Jefferson!"

He cursed fluidly and slid out of the bed, alternately glaring at Jack and his own erection.

Jack giggled and hung over the far edge of the bed, his golden arse in the air, searching for the chemise. He found it across the room, under one of James' shoes and cosying up to a bust on a pillar that glowered at them both.

"A moment, if you please!" James called out, sorting through the array of stray clothes on the floor, tossing the woman's at Jack while quickly dressing in his. "Get under the blanket," he hissed, then half-opened the door. "Yes?"

Jorge, the Commandante's valet, was panting at the door, a lantern in hand. "Por favor, señor. Help me, please. We have a problem downstairs. We need every man in the house. Follow me." He danced about outside the door like a large insect on stilts.

"Of course." Inwardly, James cursed, half-afraid that Thompson had recognised him and that guards would be waiting to arrest him, but any refusal would only be more suspicious. "Dearest, stay where you are. I will be back presently." He followed the valet, wishing that he at least had his sword.

Jack sighed and went to the wardrobe. The Commandante had provided a fluffy dressing gown of apricot coloured silk, awash in lace and drenched in Eau de mimosa. He held it between two fingers with a grimace, then hauled it over his shoulders and sulked for two minutes because there was no rum. There was a soft knock and he brightened, hoping to coax James into a raid on the smoking room's decanters.

James however was being led through a maze of hallways, out into an inner courtyard which seemed dark and peaceful. No guards, but no uproar either, and Jorge still gestured for him to follow.

Instead, the door admitted Don Jaime, uniform immaculate, a leer as dark as during the reception still on his face. He smirked. "Madame."

Jack smiled and backed away. "Señor, sir, really this is most irregular." He recognised the shape of the bottle in the man's grip and decided it was worth a flirt or two to get hold of it. "My husband called away in the middle of the night and you here. With ample refreshment?" He pushed the door open.

"I would never visit a lady without a gift." Don Jaime was rather like Jack, too close when he should not be, looming as tall as Norrington. He did not seem to care much for the bottle, simply putting it down on the dressing table and sliding his hand instead around 'Mariella's' waist.

Jack ducked and slid out from under his arm, uncorking the bottle and waving it with a seductive smile before taking a very long swallow and setting it back down. "I love your gifts, but without glasses we will have to share." He took a step back, tripped over James' other shoe and found himself in Don Jaime's eager arms. He gulped. "Sir, my husband..."

"Is otherwise occupied and won't be back until a goodly time has passed. It is difficult enough to make him leave your side." One of the Commandante's hands slid up to his 'breasts', the other still around his waist, hitching him in close and allowing no escape, when there was another knock on the door.

Jack batted his hand away and slithered free. "Hide! If he finds you here he'll kill me!"

He pushed Don Jaime into the wardrobe, took another quick drink and answered the door. "Governor? Sir, what it is? My husband has been called away urgently and I'm terrified!"

The Governor smiled. "I thought you would be." He too, stepped closer. "A young woman such as you should not be alone."

"Oh sir, it is late at night! What has happened to my James?" Jack's eyes darted towards the slowly-widening crack in the wardrobe door and he kicked one of his shoes towards it with a wild shake of his head. "What is happening?"

He let the Governor past him into the room and clasped his hands together, trying to rearrange the neckline of the gown.

"I am certain he will be back by dawn," the Governor assured her. He was less forward than Don Jaime, but the look on his face was as clear as any touch. "I thought, Madame, that perhaps you would enjoy...company?"

Jack smiled helplessly. "I always enjoy your company sir." The wardrobe door creaked and he leaned against it, hard. "I hardly know what to think."

There was a hiss from behind the door. The Governor was still smiling and took a step closer. Being backed up against the wardrobe wasn't good at all.

"Perhaps there should be less thought and more...action?" He lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from Jack's face, lingering on the cheek, his meaning perfectly clear.

Jack tried to bolt but the Governor was surprisingly agile for so large a man. He was smothered in kisses and strained away, trying to laugh. "Sir, please! My husband..."

The Governor froze as there was a loud and urgent knock at the door. "Oh God, he's back. Quick. Hide! No! Not there...behind the dressing screen! Hurry!"

Jack smoothed his ruffled ruffles and took another pull from the bottle before answering the door.

It was one of the maids, young and now timid, staring wide eyed at him, shivering. "Ayuda. Por favor. The footman. Your husband helped me before. Please, is he there?"

"Footman? That was at th' Governor's? Which footman?" Jack stared at her blankly. "Que pasa, hija? Wot-what?"

The little maid looked at him imploringly and he sputtered, "My husband is attending urgent business. What can I do?" He poked his head back to see the Governor's eyes peering over the screen and hissed at him. The wardrobe door creaked.

The maid went to her knees and clutched Jack's legs, wailing pathetically. "Please. Help me. Please."

Jack jumped back and almost landed against the pillar, the bust wavering dangerously. He clamped both hands on it, staring down in horror. "What can I do? Tell me."

"Follow me, Señora, please, please." The maid took his arm. "I implore you."

"Awright! Awright. I'm comin'." Jack took a moment to grab another swallow and check his hair in the mirror. He fluffed it out and shook his head madly at the Governor, who was peeking again. The wardrobe door moaned on its hinges. Jack shut it and followed the maid out the door.

The wardrobe door creaked open and the Governor peered from behind the dressing screen, but the moment they were about to sneak out, the door opened again to admit Thompson. His little distraction manoeuvre had succeeded.

He was methodical, ransacking the dressing table drawers, leafing through the stage scripts, then putting them back in frustration. The Governor was about to attempt sneaking out once more when Thompson went to his knees to check under the bed.

There were urgent steps outside. He cursed and swiftly slid underneath at the same moment that Jack erupted through the door and leaned against it, panting.

Don Jaime was feeling increasingly uncomfortable in the narrow wardrobe. It was full of powder and lavender and he needed air. He burst out of it precisely as the Governor peered over the dressing screen again.

Don Jaime's gaze went dark and he stepped closer to 'Mariella'. "Governor. What a coincidence."

"Sir, I must ask why you should be here in this lady's chamber?"

Jack looked from one to the other and wordlessly handed the bottle to the Governor.

Don Jaime glowered. "I insist upon an answer!"

"I fail to see how my reason should be any more doubtful than yours!"

"Are you gonna drink that?" Jack asked plaintively.

The Governor handed the bottle back.

"I heard a commotion. Sir, I keep order in my own house!"

"Particularly in married women's bedrooms?"

Jack took a long pull and handed it to Don Jaime. "Both of you, stop it! You're makin' me-my head ache!"

Don Jaime drank and bowed. "Forgive me, my lady. It was only on your account that I lost my temper."

"I know, you're adorable. Thank you." Jack took another drink and passed it along to the Governor. "And you, too, for taking such good care of me. Now please, can't we just try to forget all this an' get some sleep?"

Don Jaime glared. The Governor glared. Thompson nearly choked under the bed.

Jack smiled coyly. "Any lady would be thrilled to be so chivalrously cared for." He thought about the maid and her sudden declamation of Juliet's 'Five Dangers' speech and took another drink.

There was a moment of silence in which Don Jaime and the Governor glowered at each other and smiled at Mariella, and the even, measured steps outside were clearly audible.

The Governor wordlessly slid behind the dressing screen again, whereas it took a curse and a push to propel the Commandante back into the wardrobe.

Jack turned, wondering who of the house inhabitants would seek refuge here _this time_. It was James.

Jack whirled to sit on the bed, hiding the bottle on the floor in front of Thompson's face.

"Oh, it's you. Wherever have you been?" 'Mariella' sounded relieved--and breathless.

James' brow drew tight. Why did Jack fake his voice? "It seems that the grand danger was naught but a stray dog. There is naught to concern yourself over."

This was strange. The urgent matter in the middle of the night, Jack pretending to be a woman when they were alone. He stepped closer and sat down on the bed as well, whispering into Jack's ear. "What is wrong?"

Jack laughed a trifle hysterically. "Seems there's been a crisis in the maid's quarter. She wants to be Juliet. James, I'm feeling rather faint. Can we go down to the garden to get some air. Got comp'ny!" Jack hissed, pretending to nuzzle his neck and blasting him with the very strong fragrance of rum and mimosa.

James caught himself at any further question and instead he rose. "Anything you want, dearest." He frowned at the coat appearing by itself from behind the dressing screen but did not comment and instead led his 'wife' outside.

The Governor chose to abandon the field. In the morning, he would claim victory and trust that Madame Jefferson would not be the kind to defend her honour, especially with Don Jaime in her wardrobe.

There was one enormous problem with the wardrobe: Don Jaime had to hunch over to stand in it. This condition was thoroughly uncomfortable and he had little hope that the teasing wench would return without her husband. Another plan foiled, but what was difficult to reach only was all the sweeter. He, too, abandoned the field. For now.

Finally alone again, Thompson reached out for the bottle, so wonderfully left directly by his hiding place. He took a large gulp. Perhaps the strange duo of actors did not have the papers, but the husband was to be pitied.

James led Jack outside, into the quiet of the courtyard. "Behind the dressing screen. Don Jaime, I take it?"

"No, that was th' Guv'nor. Don Jaime is in th' wardrobe. An' the maid! Oh good God! Doesn't anyone sleep 'round here?"

"Maybe they are not all as worn out." James grinned lopsidedly. "Are you all right? Did anything happen?"

"Le'see. I've been compromised twice in a quarter hour, subjected to an audition and all I wanna do is sleep!" Jack complained. He shivered and James gallantly pulled his coat off and draped it around 'Mariella's' shoulders. "Suppose we should go back. And things were just gettin' interestin' again." he mourned.

"I was dragged several times around the house in search of a dangerous 'wolf' which doesn't live in the Caribbean in the first place. Likely so that the good Don Jaime would find you alone." They turned back towards the house. "Why did you let them enter at all?"

"Didn't much have a choice, luv. Mos' persistent buggers." Jack decided that telling James about the much-desired rum would only get his feathers ruffled. "C'mon. I'm chilly an' I wanna get warm again." His fingers danced across James breeches.

James rolled his eyes. "Like a cat in heat. Little wonder you have so many suitors. A minute ago, you wanted to sleep."

After all, this certainly should not become a habit.

They returned to their room and James' hand lingered on the door knob. "Do you think we left them enough time to get out?"

Jack prowled the room, the gown's ruffles fluttering as he checked the wardrobe and the screen. "Seems awright." He poked around, looking for the bottle and found it on the pillar, next to the bust of some Roman.

He blinked. He'd been sure he had stashed it next to the bed. "Here. Y'may as well have some. Everyone else has!"

James took the bottle. "I believe my question why you allowed them inside is answered," he muttered, tossing it back for a large swallow, then another with which he emptied it.

Jack sat on the bed, picking at the ruffles over his 'bosom'. "How in hell am I supposed t'perform like this? I'm a bloody artist." He grinned at James. "Now," he slipped the robe and chemise off and pulled James onto the bed, "where were we?"

Jack had just found the point where he had left off - somewhere near James' navel - when there was another knock on the door. James ignored it. It banged open, revealing Fernando in the doorway.

"I completely forgot to tell you...that...," his voice trailed off. "You're playing Hamlet tomorrow. Good night." The door barely closed before they could hear Fernando laughing like a hyena.

Jack groaned and lay flat on top of James. "I bloody surrender!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Jack was trying hard to control his temper. He had twenty pounds of hair top of his own, a thousand hairpins in his scalp and he gladly let Fernando unpin the two-ton court costume that the real Ophelia's great grandmother probably owned. He was close to an explosion as the redheaded bilgerat pulled a long chemise over his head, festooned with drooping velvet blossoms and leaves. "That's it?"

"Yes!" Fernando beamed. "Isn't it _beautiful_? I am sure your dearest spouse loves it." He grinned. "If not, he will definitely love getting you out of it."

Jack stared into the grainy looking-glass and groaned. It covered enough, but it was the cheapest, thinnest calico, worn by years and distinctly transparent. Worse, the right sleeve kept falling over his shoulder, displaying a lot of dark amber skin and the inked flying flags of the ship on his bicep. "Mate, I think we're gonna need a few pins."

"I am certain your husband will be glad to pin you down," Fernando chattered.

James glowered, the perfect image of a broody Hamlet. In truth, he was afraid. Certainly, he recalled many a passage well enough from his time as pupil, drilled to remember by his tutor, but to perform it on stage, in front of everyone, with his life at stake? He took the skull prop and made sure Fernando could see it. "Alas, poor Yorick." He shrugged. "Such is the fate of a jester." Fernando gulped and stopped teasing for the next half minute.

Jack's temper reached its boiling point. "Damn you for a pox-ridden whoreson, get yer arse over here!" he hissed urgently.

Fernando grinned, ambled over and turned his arse to Jack. "Not as pretty as yours, though."

Jack collared him, one silk fern drooping in front of his face. "Pin this thing up so it's decent! An' I swear t'you, one more bleedin' flower an' I'll stick ya headfirst in the privy!" He blew at the offending plant matter.

Fernando surreptitiously hid the hairpin decorated with chrysanthemums and decided that perhaps, Ophelia could do without. For this performance, at least.

Jack looked at James and gulped. This wasn't half so much fun as the Shrew thing and at least Lucrece got to hold a sword for a scene. He was beginning to chafe under the charade and had sulked the whole day memorising this dizzy jade's moaning. James looked like a rabbit in a snake's basilisk stare.

James put on his night coat for the first scene, looking as though he had seen a ghost already until he swallowed and straightened himself with a miniscule grin.

"Then let us take arms against a sea of troubles..."

Fear and courage were enough to carry James' Hamlet through the first act, a far too believable performance of growing helplessness and insanity. The dialogue was passable, and from deep in his childhood memory, he recalled the soliloquies. Fortunately, the Spanish audience did not notice when he left out lines.

"O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!  
Is it not monstrous that this player here,  
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,  
Could force his soul so to his own conceit  
That from her working all his visage wann'd,  
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,  
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting  
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!  
For Hecuba!"

Little did Hamlet know. To be on stage was not merely such a fiction. To stand there was a thrill of fear and pride, seeing all those assembled to watch and knowing their expectations. Knowing that one had to fulfill them. An actor's life was not normally at risk, but these people lived for it. And in that moment, it was all that counted. If they wanted Hamlet, then Hamlet they should have.

James had thought the same, that what mattered was the play, an amusing pretense. But standing there, it was all serious, even the comedies.

Jack peeked out from the wings to watch, smiling. James wasn't half-bad. He remembered seeing Hamlet in Barbados once, where the leading actor had outweighed the Pearl and squeaked. James looked deliciously melancholy in his black clothes, scrabbling together some forty years of fashion and makeshift adjustments by less-than-inspired hands. It did not seem to matter one bit; the straight, noble posture spoke of royalty, the shabbiness only seeming to make him more distraught and brave and mad. His Hamlet had the courage of terror, the ache of real fear lurking beneath a most laudable performance.

Zelina, playing Gertrude, gaped over his shoulder. "Lor! This should make my scene wif him interestin' indeed! Who woulda thought it!" She hurried to the other side of the stage for her entrance giggling. Jack retreated and waited, entranced.

James narrowly passed by 'Ophelia' on his exit. He was actually trembling with relief for the brief pause and had to fight his laughter at Jack's costume. "Break a leg."

"With this bloody rig, I prob'ly will!" Jack growled, then he leaned forward and pirated a quick kiss. "Yer wonderful."

He grabbed the ragged bouquet of weeds and ran onto the stage, stopping halfway to the centre and looking about as if surprised to be there. He sang and dithered, rounded the courtiers with open curiosity and darted to speak into their faces, too close for comfort.

" And pansies." He paused and smiled angelically. "That's for thoughts." His voice went darker and suddenly ragged, "There's a daisy; I would give you some violets...violets.... " It quivered perilously, then continued, trance-like, "but they withered all when my father died." He had a momentary flash of his own Da' and swallowed a smirk.

James watched from the side, amazed. Jack acted so like he normally did, but it was deliberate. Each sway fit perfectly, planned, and James had to wonder if the regular swagger was not exactly as much of an act. Suddenly it didn't look clumsy anymore, instead graceful. The singing wasn't the bawling he had feared, a bit light, but actually...passable.

Jack seemed insane, but Ophelia even more so, her voice passing from high pitched shrieks to the softest whisper. Oh yes, Jack Sparrow was an entertainer, entrancing as much attention as he could from everyone.

Jack staggered offstage and hissed, "Rum!" Zelina giggled and passed him her flask. He was panting and eyed the 'litter' meant to bear Ophelia to her grave; two sticks and what looked like a piece of a mainsail? He rolled his eyes.

James plucked the flask from his hands and took a large gulp. "What an excellent singing voice you have, Ophelia." He peered down at Jack's crotch. "Did something happen since the last time I saw this?"

Jack glared and grabbed for his prick protectively. "Still intact." He laughed and settled his weedy wig. "I gotta go die now. Don't step on me please."

He lay down on the bier and two of the stage hands fussed to drape a length of wretchedly tatty lace over him to the waist as a 'shroud'. "Burial at sea, James. Promise?"

"Of course. I cannot leave the flowers unwatered."

"Bastard!" Jack laughed as James was shoved onstage by Antonio as a limping Horatio, the wound in his left buttock hampering his steps.

James was lucky he was holding Yorick's skull when the first cannon boomed. He blinked and flinched. A fight on the docks? If only he could so much as see what was going on. Perhaps it would serve as a distraction for an escape?

Jack's head poked up but Fernando shoved him back down and he was carried onstage, his heart pounding. Zelina was tossing flowers on him when there was another volley. His eyes flew open.

The Pearl.

It took every bit of control he possessed in this lifetime or any other to stay still while James and Fernando as Laertes argued above him, James' voice ringing in his ears "This is I, Hamlet the Dane! "

Jack thought he really didn't have to shout so loud. Then there was scuffling in the audience. He was dying to peek but remained motionless.

The "grave" was rather large and shallow, allowing for Ophelia to lie in it while Hamlet and Laertes struggled.

However, James was certain enough that Thompson had not been cast as Laertes.

Nor should he have a sword with which he was trying to run him through.

Jack got kicked in the ribs twice, opened his eyes and Ophelia was forgotten. Apparently, James' stentorian tones had been recognised. He leaned up and punched Thompson soundly in the groin, pushed him out of the way and grabbed Antonio's sword, tossing it to James.

There was collective gasp from the audience. This was a variation of the play none of them had ever witnessed before, but their eager eyes lit up, watching the swordfight on the stage, uncaring if it was real. It certainly was entertaining, and that was what they had come for, after all.

Then there was another volley of cannonfire and the square was overrun with torches and familiar, if disreputable men. The entertainment degenerated into chaos, people running madly to every available street. Screams and shrieks echoed and Jack grabbed the one of the courtier's swords, covering James' back and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Gibbs!"

Suddenly James lost sight of Thompson in the uproar, and the next second he was behind Jack, sword leveled at his throat. "Drop your sword, Norrington. You wouldn't have an innocent woman pulled into this, would you?"

Jack's eyes met James', flashing fire and he grinned.

James began lowering his sword, careful not to betray anything on his face. "No, not a woman."

Jack stomped down on Thompson's foot with one high, red heel, viciously elbowing him in the gut at the same time. He broke free, dancing away, his sword scraping along the startled man's. "An' certainly not innocent, mate." He lunged forward and parried the wavering attack.

This time it was James who appeared from behind and thumped Thompson over the head with his blunted theatre sword's hilt. Thompson slumped and James quickly draped the unconscious man over his shoulders. "Let's go!"

"Not without my effects!" Jack yelled, heading backstage.

He held the shocked Fernando at sword's point. "Where th' hell are they? Me boots, me HAT!"

Mutely, Fernando pointed to one of the trunks. Jack dropped the sword and pulled on his breeches and waistcoat, tying the sash and yanking on belt and baldric with incredible speed. He hefted his own cutlass, shoved the pistol in his sash and stuck the hat on his head. "If I don't have my coat by the time we sail, I'll come back an' find ya!"

He helped James hoist the unconscious Thompson, hollering all the while for Gibbs.

Jack grabbed an armload of costumes and shoved them into a trunk, sweeping cosmetics and wigs into various bandboxes. "Get the troupe t'gether. James, is he still out? Tie him up wif this!"

He threw Lucrece's funerary veil and a long bit of golden rope used to tie her gown, then turned to Fernando. "Mate, I'm really grateful for all your help and I'm willin' and able t' keep you lot safe. But we gotta get t'me ship, savvy?"

Fernando gulped and nodded. He had never been silent for so long, and his voice sounded quite different when he was not joking. "Thank you."

Then he rushed off to gather the rest of the troupe. Solomon only stared and saw the coins sinking into the sea while everyone clamoured to save themselves. Better than a Spanish jail, perhaps.

Jack hefted trunk after trunk onto one of the wagons as they tore down the sets and tried to salvage as much as possible. He moved methodically, well-used to loading up plunder in a hurry.

He stole to the hitching posts, threading his way through the screaming throng, grabbed two likely beasts and led them back to the wagon, hitching it up and shoved Solomon towards it.

"Ah, San Felipe. Farewell!" Solomon D'Yves made a final bow to the overturned benches in the ravaged square.

Jack stole another two horses and hoisted Fernando on one. "Take someone behind and wait fer my signal."

He watched James dump Thompson over the withers and mount with a grin. "Awright. Let's get t'the Pearl."

James smiled lopsidedly. "If Hamlet can survive pirates, so can I."

Jack led Fernando down the back lanes, where the guards would not be posted. Most of them were too busy running around like madmen or looting the shops. Jack scowled. He didn't like civilians stealing his plunder. The two wagons creaked under their loads and, slowly they made their way to the dock.

There was a tall figure blocking their path, and the dark gaze was, for once, outraged rather than desirous. Don Jaime's sword was drawn and his eyes flared with injured honour. "You perverse _bastard_! You will pay for this."

"Oh, it's you. Hello, luv." Jack grinned at him, pushing the hair and flowers out of his face. His cutlass was up and ready. "Don Jaime, I do b'lieve you've been followin' me."

Don Jaime snarled and lunged, blind with fury. "Hijo de puta, I am going to kill you!" His eyes were almost popping out of his head.

Jack stuck out one foot and tripped him, spun and clobbered him on the head with the hilt. "Y've no sense of adventure, mate!"

Swiftly, he took the length of rope Zelina tossed from the wagon and trussed the Commandante up like a Christmas goose, tying a ragged lace handkerchief around his mouth. He paused a moment and leaned down. "Darling, you really must learn to control your ardour."

They left him in a doorway puddle of slop.

"An' that'll be the last time ya trifle with **Captain** Jack Sparrow!"

"Let us hope so for him and his sanity." James grabbed Jack and hauled him on the horse. "A true artist knows when to quit the stage. Which is now."

The Governor peered from the safety of his barrel, waiting until the wagon was far out of sight to untie the Commandante. It took exactly two curses and the promise of several bottles of fine wine for them to agree to never speak of the incident again.

****************************************&lt;!--&lt;wbr&gt;\--&gt;&lt;!--&lt;/wbr&gt;\--&gt;***********************

Jack nodded affably at Cotton as he raced down towards the dock. "Nice evenin', ain't it?"

"Bwwwwaaack. Roses are red! Red sky at night, sailor's delight!"

Anamaria was fighting with a donkey carrying a heavy load, dropping the reins when she saw Jack.

The chemise was crammed under his waistcoat and into his breeches like a shirt, a woolen breast peeking out, lopsided and framed by flowers drooping from the monstrosity of his wig.

"Daft!" She pointed her finger accusingly before laughing helplessly.

Jack thrust out his lower lip, then looked down. He tore the breast away and glared at her. "Just get things loaded. We've had a bit o' business miscommunication here. And get these folk aboard."

She was still laughing and he stamped his foot. "DAMMIT!"

Gibbs approached from the side and muttered to Ana. "'s terrible bad luck t'ave a woman aboard, 'specially when she's throwing temper fits."

"It seems your crew is not very respectful, Captain Sparrow."

Jack looked at Gibbs, exasperated. "Don't stall, man. There's a full militia there an' right now they're havin' fun doin' your work!"

He turned to Fernando. "Get th' ladies aboard and you dogs, load in that cargo." He stalked to Ana. "I'll tell ya later. Jus' get 'em all back t' the ship and let's get outta here."

She grinned. "Aye, Ma'am!"

He made a most obscene gesture. "James, can ya help with the trunks. First, let's get him in th' brig."

He helped Norrington ease the unconscious Thompson from the horse and carried him to one of the longboats, shouting orders, his sharp eyes everywhere at once.

The Pearl roared a single shot and the crew straggled back to the dock, bearing all manner of goods and helping to get the wagonloads into the boats. Amid the pandemonium, James and Jack had traveled back and forth from the Pearl to shore five times.

Finally, they weighed anchor and set sail, leaving San Felipe in chaos and the remains of a stage sagging in her plaza. It was a performance that would not be forgotten for many years.

Jack took the helm as the Pearl's sails filled and the last San Felipe saw of Mariella Jefferson, she was checking her bearings, long curls not her own adorned with a small conservatory blowing in the breeze under a battered leather hat. It was a fitting exit for a legendary star.

****************************************&lt;!--&lt;wbr&gt;\--&gt;&lt;!--&lt;/wbr&gt;\--&gt;********************************

  
They were out of the harbour and the course was set, the cargo deposited in the holds and Gibbs arranged quarters for the actors when Jack turned from the helm. "Well, I dunno wot you think, luv, but that's a much better endin' fer Hamlet."

"Most matters are better than the death of everyone involved." James said quietly. He'd had time to think while they sailed out. "And what is the intent of the pirates with Hamlet in this version of the play?"

"We've set sail fer Port Royal, of course. James, we're takin' you home." Jack looked genuinely surprised that there had been any doubt. "Wot else would I do with such a brave and noble husband?"

He grinned and called to Ana. "Take the wheel. I'm gonna get below fer a spell." He pointed at her. "Not another bloody word! C'mon James. I wanna introduce you to the Black Pearl."

Ana did not precisely _say_ anything, but her gestures were more than eloquent.

  
The Great Cabin had been hastily converted into suitable quarters for the ladies of the troupe, the men doubling up with Gibbs and the other crewmen in hammocks.

Jack's hands ran over the dark wooden rail affectionately. "She's a peach, ain't she James?" He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the lips of the grinning cherub over the lintel as he led James into his own cabin. "We may end up havin' t'share a bit, but that can wait. I want a bit of a breather."

James froze. Now certainly was not the moment to blush, but the sight of the giant monstrosity of a bed in the cabin had that effect. "You mean I am to stay here? In your cabin?"

"Where else would ya stay?" Jack looked confused. "Yer my guest, James. You saved my neck. Where'd ya think I would put you?" He pulled at the wig, disentangling pins with impatient fingers.

"I do not know." James admitted. In their frenzied escape, he hadn't had any time to think of that. He helped with the wig pins to distract himself and keep from shuffling his hands nervously. "It isn't the expected end for the play 'James and the pirate'."

Jack shook his head to free of any stray pins lurking in its depths, looked up from the massive dressing table and smiled. "The pirate may be kind an' the wife may be true enough." His eyes were gleaming in the lanterns' light.

"You do realise that we are not, in fact, married, nor are you pregnant?" James said dryly. "Or are you?"

Jack's face crinkled into a grin and he shrugged. "If I am, 'twould be a miracle indeed. Wot d'you say t'calling our offspring Vladimir?"

He rose, shedding the waistcoat and pulling the leaf-and-flower-strewn chemise over his head, tossed it aside and pulled James close. "That were some fancy swordplay. Most impressive."

James arched an eyebrow. "A husband must be capable of defending his wife. And himself." He smiled. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack's lips curved against his neck. "Thank you, James." They were still stained rose red and it was infinitely apparent that Mariella's roguish eyes were not any act.

Nor was their kiss a stage kiss, but it was interrupted by Fernando banging the door open. "All right!" He threw it closed again.

Jack giggled and his long fingers danced over James' collar, amazingly clean, even the nails scrubbed and buffed. "Damnation. One o' these days, we're gonna have t' find the time an' place for some privacy, mate."

The Pearl laughed at him and shuddered a little, then pitched him at James. She knew all about the marriage of true minds.

****************************************&lt;!--&lt;wbr&gt;\--&gt;&lt;!--&lt;/wbr&gt;\--&gt;************

Several months later, there was a letter on James Norrington's desk. Certainly, there were a lot of letters there, sorted neatly into the piles of handwriting he recognised; a huge pile from the Admiralty, an insignificantly smaller pile with invitations from Port Royal citizens, two letters from his family. But the hand on this letter looked completely different. Not a woman's, so it was none of the dreaded invitations. One of his men, perhaps? But who would write to him, not to mention that few of them could? Strange.

He cut the envelope open and unfolded the letter. More of that unfamiliar hand. He grinned.

_My Dearest, Most adored and Eftemmed Husband,_

I write this gazing off at the wake behind the Pearl as the wilds of the French settlements of Barataria grow distant. Isn't that grand of me? I saw a play last Thursday week and I thought you a much better Hamlet.

All on the Pearl long to see Mr. Jefferson reprise his Tarquin. I shall never live it down and you owe me a bottle of rum, for I did not stamp or in any way behave unlike Lucrece. She might well have thrown the tongs at Cotton's parrot. It was most rude.

My fond hope is that Tarquin has not gone soft and is still desirous of his Lucrece. In truth, I am hurt and offended. It ill becomes any wife to importune her husband.

Why are you not chasing me?

If you need a location to start such a welcome hunt, there are rumours that such as I may be found at The Boar's Tusk of a Friday evening.

I remain, as always, your devoted and sore-neglected wife, JS.

PS. For the love of God, do not bring any flowers.

All of Port Royal wondered at their Commodore's whistling, and for whom he bought such a fine bouquet.

  
FIN

  
NOTES: We are fiends and apologise to the Bard, James Bond, Bugs Bunny, Coupling and a host of others we have abused. *wink*


End file.
